A Mighty Passion Volume 3: Met and Parted
by amightypassion
Summary: Sand and Torio have been separated, flung far across the planes. He's back in his own personal hell and she's found herself in a veritable heaven. But each will find that their new homes aren't as dark or perfect as it originally seemed. Adult discretion.
1. Chapter 1

**Volume 3: Met and Parted**

_The limner's art may trace the absent feature,_

_And give the eye of distant weeping faith_

_To view the form of its idolatry;_

_But oh! the scenes 'mid which they met and parted;_

_The thoughts--the recollections sweet and bitter,--_

_Th' Elysian dreams of lovers, when they loved,--_

_Who shall restore them?_

Charles Robert Maturin

* * *

**Volume 3, Chapter 1 – Torio: Elysian Dreams**

_No!_

There was rushing light and sound, an impossible feeling of being stretched and squashed, flying and falling...her fingers grasped at images that flashed by her eyes and were just as quickly gone...

_Sand...no..._

She landed with an undignified _Whump!_, her breath rushing back into her lungs in a painful gasp. She coughed, choked, blood gurgling up in her throat; the sky above her was blindingly blue and brilliant, the grass soft underneath her back...for the short moment before it became saturated with her blood as it spilled out of her in a rush, the impeding sword suddenly gone from her body...

"Well! What have we here?"

The cervidal crouched down at the obviously injured human woman before him, the muscles of his powerful equine hind legs bunching and contracting, visible beneath the simple tan pants he was wearing. "Oh lovey! You're hurt. And badly too. All right, lovey, Benignus here will help you." He very gently and very carefully turned her on her stomach, lifting her shirt to examine the wound. "I have no heal potions but I have bandages, all right? I'm going to fix you right up."

Benignus reached into his pack and removed a long roll of linen wrapping and began slowly wrapping it around her torso. The fabric was nearly instantly soaked through with blood but he pressed down with a steady pressure until the bleeding eased. "Try not to move, lovey. Now...your hand." He held up her hand and cringed when he realized he could see the emerald green grass on the other side of her palm. "We'll patch this up as best we can then find a healer all right? What's your name? Where are you from? That was quite the blazing entrance you made a while ago!" His dark eyes were shining kindly at her even as his horned head shook in amazement. His rich chestnut hair and beard fell to his bare chest. "I am Benignus, guardian of the East Demesne of Amoria, upper layer of Elysium."

_Was she dead?_

Torio gazed around blearily, her head swimming as the...creature...bandaged up the wound on her back. _Not dead._ Not yet. If she were dead she would definitely be in a much different place than the one she was in.

"Torio," she gasped out, "Claven. I was..on..Abeir-Toril." Damn that wizard, that _elf_, he had done it after saying that he wouldn't...did he have any idea what danger he was putting himself in? When she found him again, she would...

She would...

_Goodbye Torio..._

Tears stung her eyes, and she gasped as the creature lifted her hand up. "Where is this place?" She asked hoarsely; her body thrummed painfully as she sat up feeling her tunic stick wetly to her back. She was beginning to get dizzy, although the pressure from the wrapped bandages had stemmed most of the flow for the moment.

Benignus bowed down at her. "Well, Torio Claven from Abeir-Toril of the Prime Material Plane - Elysium is...a place of pure good, I suppose, would be the simplest way to put it. Amoria is the topmost layer of this plane. We do not tolerate evil or evil acts here." He gave her a long, piercing stare with his black eyes before breaking out into a soft, understanding smile. He used his calloused fingers to touch her cheek, looking into clear eyes that held tears threatening to spill.

He picked her up easily, cradling her like a child and began walking down the gently sloping hill. "The main feature of Amoria is the River Oceanus. Most of the towns and villages will be along the river." Supporting her fully with one arm, he pointed in the distance, where a sparkling wide river could be seen, glinting like a blue jewel among the lush green hills and trees.

The cervidal's footing was sure as he made his way down, being careful not to jostle the woman too much. "We are near the Beastlands and Bytopia. You can travel there if you find the portals and doorways. I don't know how to explain where it is in relation to your world, lovey. You won't be able to get back to Abeir-Toril by walking, that much is for certain. That is, if you wish to return. Most don't and become permanent petitioners here. This plane is inhabited by guardinals, people like myself, who have sworn to protect goodness. Prince Talisid, the great leonal, is our leader "

They had reached the bottom of the hill and Benignus began trotting forward, his movements fluid and smooth, his hooves barely depressing the grass below him. The air was filled with small exotic looking birds, singing brilliantly in the afternoon skies. "I'm bringing you to a small temple dedicated to Pelor, the god of sun and healing. You will have to tell us everything of how you came here."

Torio remained silent as the cervidal spoke; he moved fluidly, shaking her only slightly, but she could feel the wound in her back open again and ooze against the bandage; _by the gods,_ but she was tired. She could just close her eyes...just rest them for a minute...

"I have to get back," she mumbled drowsily. "I can't stay here...he needs me, you know, he doesn't think he does but it's true...he'll die if I don't get back..." She blinked blearily as they trotted over a wide field, the birdsong clear and sweet and sending a heartaching shiver through her. "Amoria? He sent me to Elysium..." She clutched at the beard that spilled down Benignus' chest. "I will tell you how I came here...just get me back..."

Through the grey haze that was rapidly descending over her vision, she caught sight of a tall, yellow-stoned building riding high above the trees, a nondescript carving of a face within the circle of curving rays, supposedly representing the sun. Three, circling shadows could be seen flying around the temple's spire; she heard intermittent keening, and said, nonsensically as her eyes closed, "Eagles..."

* * *

Benignus had no idea who this 'he' was but said soothingly as Torio slipped in and out of consciousness, "Yes, lovey, we'll get you back to him and he'll be all right and waiting for you." He clutched her a little tighter to his chest as her breathing became shallow, feeling the blood on his arm as he carried her.

As he approached the temple of Pelor, a young priest with blonde hair and bronzed skin, dressed in a golden robe, tending the grounds waved to him, "Greetings, Beni...Oh sweet sun lord! Who do you have there?"

The cervidal replied, "Ghero, I am glad to see you. A woman from the Prime Material Plane - Torio. I don't know much; she was sent here by somebody, injured. Please, can you help us?"

Ghero quickly put down the small rake and began running besides Benignus. He stuck his fingers against her neck, where a faint, erratic heartbeat could be felt. "Yes, we will help her. Quickly, inside."

* * *

Light flickered behind her eyelids.

She was walking; Sand, Nevalle, the Knight Captain, everyone that had been pulled into this war against Shadow all stood at the end of a long hall. There was a flickering light that ran in a jagged line down the Knight Captain's chest before disappearing into the collar of her shirt. The Knight Captain's silver eyes bore into her, cold and emotionless. Sand stood at the forefront, his eyes staring into hers; she noticed as she walked closer to them that his wrists were bound.

"You have quite a bit of power over their situation, girl."

Garius walked next to her, his hands folded behind his back, just as they had often walked; her on his right side. She used to feel strangely proud of his acknowledgement of her, when they appeared together thusly. Now she merely felt an emptiness; her eyes were fixed on Sand, at the end of the hallway, looking urgently at her as if he were trying to say something...

"Pay attention, girl...!"

But the hallway was stretching longer and longer, and even when she finally broke into a run, leaving Garius' furious face behind her, the group of heroes, Neverwinter's last bastion of hope against the darkness, seemed to move farther and farther away...

* * *

_"...girl...can you hear me, girl?..."_

Torio opened her eyes.

Ghero stared urgently into the young woman's face as she opened her eyes again, her expression confused. She had fallen unconscious and then her whole body had begun seizing; the other priests had rushed to her side, holding her wracking body to the thin mattress before she hurt herself further.

"Girl...you gave us quite the scare...stay with us..." He pressed a cool damp cloth to her forehead. "We're just going to roll you on your side so the high priestess can heal you...stay with us..." Ghero gripped her lightly by the shoulders and turned her body. Benignus helped support her head, stroking her hair gently. "Ah, lovey, you must fight this, stay alive and return to him..."

The high priestess rushed in, her yellow robes trimmed with shining gold. Without any further word, she lifted Torio's torn tunic, eyeing the cervidal's quick patch job, touching the wound with her slender fingers. "You did well Benignus; she would have bled out quickly if you hadn't found her. They cut through some major blood vessels." Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands to Torio's back and muttered a quiet, singsong prayer to Pelor. Her hands became washed in a soothing, yellow light before radiating to the wound, healing it.

Ghero and Benignus lowered Torio back to the mattress and the high priestess unwrapped her hand, wincing in sympathy, clucking her tongue. "Oh my poor bird." She pressed her palm to Torio's palm and used another cure spell on her hand. Dropping Torio's hand back to the mattress, she pulled a woolen blanket up to her chin and stood. The high priestess turned to Ghero and Benignus, "She needs rest. Somebody should stay with her. Planar travel can be a shock."

Ghero stepped forward and answered, "I will. Beningus, you have your patrol duties and you have done enough today already for this stranger. I will take over. I am certain though, she would appreciate the visitor tomorrow."

The cervidal patted Torio lightly and stood as well. "Then I shall see you on the morrow. May Pelor bless you."

Torio felt absolutely exhausted; a latent weariness seemed to settle into her very bones, and she sighed in absolute relief as she moved and felt only the slightest complaints in her back...the muscles were tightened, slightly sore, but otherwise unscathed, and she flexed her stiff left hand as she watched the cervidal leave. She tried to call "Thank you!" but her voice was hoarse and muted, as if she had been wandering the desert for days with a parched throat.

Her head was a bit clearer now that she was healed. She examined Ghero covertly, surprisingly uncaring as to what these...creatures, or people...planars? had in store for her. It was supposed to be a plane infused with good aligned creatures. She should be relatively safe...

Not that she deserved any of it.

"Elysium, is it?" She asked Ghero quietly. "I suppose I owe you and your priestess my life." She shifted slightly, propping herself up on an elbow. "Do you know of how I could get back to Abeir-Toril from here? Or who I might talk to?"

Ghero pulled up a small stool and sat besides her, holding prayer beads between his fingers. His tanned face was young; and yet at the same time, held a sort of wrinkled wisdom of the ages whenever he smiled. "You do not 'owe' anybody here anything. Those who serve Pelor are called to aid all those in need, regardless. I would hope that you would have done the same, had the situations been reversed." He picked up a waterskin hanging by the headboard of the bed and handed it to her.

"You must regain your strength first before you can think of leaving here. Much of your life's blood was lost; planar travel so soon again will be a shock to your system and you may not survive. It was a miracle you survived the first trip. But you will need to speak to either Prince Talisid or one of his Five Companions - his lieutenants."

Ghero reached out and touched her forehead. "I can sense great evil in your past, great sins for which you are struggling to atone. Normally the avorals do not tolerate visitors such as you - and yet they have left you alone. Out of pity or sympathy or because they see something in you, I do not know."

He toyed with his beads a moment, the dull gold glittering in the sunlight. "One does not simply demand an audience with the Prince or his Companions. It must be earned but once earned, you will have no greater ally. Tell me, Torio, how did one like you come to be here? And why is it you are so hard pressed to leave? Most of those who come become permanent petitioners here. Tell me your tale."

Torio's face was hard as she looked at the man sitting at her bedside. _Struggling to atone..._ She had merely been struggling to survive, much less atone for anything.

She said evenly, "I was on a ship, south of the human city of Luskan, on Faerun. Toril. We were attacked." Her fingers toyed with the edge of her blanket, her legs shifting slightly under the blanket; she couldn't pace...she _wanted_ to pace. Hells, she wanted to run, and keep running, until her feet were back on familiar soil again. "I was...obviously wounded, as you saw when I was brought here. My...A wizard..." she swallowed hard. "My lover wished me away...here, I suppose, since this is where I ended up. He had spoken of doing it before, if I ended up being in danger." Her fingers were tightly knotting the blanket in her fingers as she spoke. "He's in danger; possibly dead, already. I need to get back to help him." Her voice sounded completely unfamiliar to her; it was raw, almost pleading, and she took a deep, ragged breath, leaning back against the pillows.

After a moment, she spoke again. "I suppose I have my share of 'sins', as you call them." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm...not exactly proud of the things I've done. I always felt they were necessay." Her eyes flitted to Ghero's face. "Now I'm not so positive; look where they've landed me." She sighed. "The...elf that sent me here, he's...one singular person out of thousands that looked at me differently. Despite my...past." She shut her eyes. "You understand my desire to return."

Ghero reached out and took her newly healed hand. "Oh, child." The priest fell silent a moment before continuing. "Your lover sounds like a good man. The gods do reward men and elves such as him. If he has died, I am certain his soul has moved on and has found peace. But if he is alive then you will have to trust that he can survive on his own. There are no guarantees as to how soon you will find your way back to your plane, if ever. But yes, I do understand your desire to return home - you feel as though you can affect a change to help him. To do good. To act in the name of goodness on his behalf."

He gave her hand a very gentle squeeze. "There is redemption to be had for all, Torio Claven, if they would but only realize it and seek it. Do you realize it yet? Do you seek it yet?" He reached up and brushed some of her brown locks out of her eyes. "That is what you must ask yourself. Then the difficult journey begins."

Ghero kissed her forehead. "I bless you in Pelor's name. Sleep now and wake with the new dawn. May it be a new day for you. I will stand vigil over you."

Torio's heart wrenched in her chest as Ghero moved back into the shadows. Her fingers clutched the blanket up to her chin. She wanted to harden herself, drive steel through her spine and deny that she even needed atonement..._are you Luskan bred and born or aren't you?_ She could survive...she could find a way back to Sand, without anyone's help...

_And maybe be too late? _From the way Ghero spoke, it was going to take quite a bit to leave Elysium. _If you want to leave..._

For a craven, selfish moment, she thought of what her life might be like if she stayed here; surrounded by eternal beauty, astounding creatures, an almost idyllic life compared to the chaos she had ploughed through back on Faerun...Sand had done this for _her_. It angered her because it was one more thing that she had no control over; someone else was moving the current of her life, even if that someone else was doing it for her own benefit.

She reached out with her mind, desperately, insensibly. _Sand...Sand, Sand, Sand, Sand..._ The spell wouldn't work through twenty five yards of stone, much less across the planes, but the act crumbled her resolve, and curiously strengthened it. She'd go back. She knew she had no other path before her.

Torio fell asleep, her fingers pulling the blanket against her body, her arms empty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Volume 3, Chapter 2 – Sand: My Needs and Wants**

Nivarra walked with heavy, purposeful steps through the dungeon. It was unusual for her father to call her down here; she normally kept to the higher levels and he normally didn't involve her in what she knew were the more sordid practices of his art...but he had been unusually insistent.

She smoothed her long brown hair before stepping through the door that opened for her, held by one of the guards. Her father stood in a small cell, with two of his colleagues; she recognized the Arcane Brotherhood when she saw it, but kept her face calm. "You summoned me."

"Yes, my dear, I did." Her father walked to her and touched his lips to her cheek briefly; his skin was cold, as it always was, and she felt her lip curling in distaste. The two other men parted ways, and she noticed for the first time a figured chained to the far wall...and elf, with long, midnight black hair and pale skin, his eyes hazily closed, his head lolling forward slightly. Her father's voice floated towards her; "An early birth day present, if you will. A prisoner, a mage of rather notable power; the honored Brothers here will perform a geas on him, so that he will follow your every command."

She felt a cold thrill of anticipation run through her as the cloaked mages walked forward, incanting softly as they approached the chained elf. Her father's voice added, "Our house could use his power, Nivarra...do not mistreat him too badly, or else we might lose the only playing piece we have." His eyes narrowed at her. "The gods know we can't rely on you to bring us such power, alone."

A flash of light; the geas was in place, and the mages were leaving, bowing to her father before disappearing out of the cell door. Nivarra approached the elf cautiously, reaching out a long finger and touching his face.

* * *

The hours had stretched by, gray, indifferent. Every time he had woken up, potions had been poured down his throat, dragging him down into a simultaneously cursed and blessed blackness. He was aware of a ship and men yelling; then it became one damp, dark basement after another until finally here, strung up against a wall. It was vaguely reminiscent of events passed; when him and Torio...

_Torio_.

He whimpered brokenly, rolling his head back. She was gone but safe. But gone. But safe. The thoughts chased each other around in his head a bit until he was exhausted, dozing further, sagging heavily in the chains.

There were more voices now; voices that held power. Sand could feel the prickling of magic and then a familiar heaviness pervaded his chest and limbs and mind. It seemed to close off his airway, stop his heart, freeze his mind and then there was a sigh through the room. A _geas_.

Sand inhaled and smelled perfumes. A woman's perfume; light, powdery with a bit of a flowery note. And then suddenly a cool, gentle hand, stroking his cheek...

For one wild moment, Sand believed Torio was here. He was so happy, he thought he would burst. _You've come for me, dear girl!_

But his thoughts were met with only silence.

Sand opened his eyes, finally, and looked up into the hazel eyes of his new mistress.

* * *

Nivarra sensed a strange, magical pressure against her mind before it withdrew, and eyed the wizard with a new, shrewd curiosity; _was he a psionicist?_

"You're in Luskan," she said quietly, as the elf's eyes fluttered open; startling blue and hazed still from his unconsciousness. "And you're mine."

She fingered a strand of his dark hair curiously, snapping over her shoulder, "Unchain him. And get him out of this dungeon, does my father expect me to work down here?" She stepped back, watching as the uniformed men moved forward and unlocked the chains around Sand's wrists, supporting the elf between them. "You have been geased, wizard," she said sharply. "Do not try to harm me, or anyone in this house; it will go painfully for you if you even attempt it. As of now, your only concern is to do everything I tell you to."

She followed as they dragged the elf up to her chambers. This _would_ be most advantageous. As much as it made her seethe, she had to admit her father was right; her skills in the arcane were sadly pitiful, at best, and they had no way to craft magical items, either for bribes, or favor gifts. Her father went to every political and social event lacking in anything to use as a bargaining piece outside of the coin in his pocket and his words.

Doors were kicked open, and they entered the small, adjoining chamber next to hers, where her fully stocked alchemical bench and small library of arcane lore filled the small, cluttered space. "This is where you will live," she said coldly. The elf was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, and with a wave of her hand, she dismissed the guards. "When I call, you will answer; when I need or want for anything, you will anticipate such, and fulfill my needs. And wants." She walked around him in a small circle, watching him on the floor. "Anything my father requires of you, you will give to him. If a servant of this house tells you to lick their boot, you will comply." She knelt in front of him, stroking his hair almost lovingly...he did have such wonderful hair; every elf she had ever seen always seemed to, as well. "Do you understand what I am saying to you, slave?"

Sand found himself wanting to resist, to say no to this impertinent, impetuous woman as he sat, weakened and pitiful on her floor. But even the thought, the mere flittering idea of going against her wishes made his insides turn and he gagged, dry heaving.

_The geas_.

He inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into the floorboards before he hissed lowly, his voice cracking and hoarse, "Yes, I understand and I will comply." Once he said the word, the sickening feeling inside him eased; he exhaled in relief, panting slightly before looking back up at her coolly, biting his tongue to keep the barrage of things he wanted to say from coming out. He scanned the small room. The alchemical bench as a good one; better in fact, than the one he had at the Keep. His blue eyes found the bookshelves of books. The whole room reeked of untapped magic.

But first, "Water. Food."

Nivarra's eyes narrowed a sliver. "Good." She stroked his head almost absently. "Who knows, if you behave I might even reward you. Guard!" The sound of heels clicking sharply together shot through the room as one of the men at the door saluted. "Bring us something from the kitchen; something hot. And wine, please. Two glasses." She moved to the door that separated her bedroom from the small alchemical room. "I suppose I'll have to have someplace to sleep made up for you in here. Come!" She clicked her tongue, almost as if she were calling an animal to her side, and pushed open the door, walking smoothly into her chambers; the room before them was a small foyer, with the opulent bedroom visible through a long, sheer curtain. She sat at a small round table, folding her hands on her lap, her eyes on Sand sharper than a hawk's. "There is no need for you to eat and drink like an animal. Yet." Her eyebrows rose an inch. "Sit. Tell me something of who you are; entertain me."

Sand found himself following her to her chambers, his limbs moving automatically, mechanically. He sat down stiffly across from, every motion sending screaming thought of protest through him. And yet there was nothing he could do but obey. His mouth opened and he began speaking in a flat, monotonous voice.

"My name is Sand; I'm 315 years old. I run a shop in the Docks district of Neverwinter where I enchant trinkets, make potions. I served as counsel in a trial for the Shard-Bearer; and am now working with Neverwinter in their preparations against the coming King of Shadows. I am also a spy for Nasher." Sand struggled a moment, unsure of what else to say - the geas was nudging him onwards. "I have... a cat, named Jaral. And a lover, Torio Claven." Oh gods, he had said it aloud to this Luskan. "I...like wine, reading, intelligence and conversation and I hate gnomes, and horses." Sand couldn't help but feel slightly stupid for the last bit of information. The tense feeling of the geas eased and he gritted his teeth, looking at Nivarra. She was a plain looking girl, not utterly unpleasant to look at, but nothing compared to Torio. Her brown hair hung loose and flat around her shoulders but her eyes were keen, sharp, ambitious. Luskan.

Nivarra's eyebrows inched upwards in interest as a servant scuttled in and placed food before them, followed by two crystalline glasses. A cork was popped, and the jittery young man poured them each a glass before placing the bottle on the table. He bowed and left almost as quickly as he arrived, as if flaming hounds were nipping at his heels.

"Eat, drink. Come along, you asked for it, did you not?" She picked up her glass, taking a tentative sip, swirling it in her mouth appreciatively. "A spy for Nasher, and the King of Shadows, is it? And _Torio Claven_ is your lover?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If you weren't under a geas I would have you whipped for mocking me with your lies...ha! The former Luskan Ambassador?" She set her glass down and speared the food on her plate almost viciously. "So she's alive. Father will be interested in hearing that; the rumors fly fast and thick in his circles, you understand. Claven is dead, Claven is alive, Claven is leading a dragon army up the coast...He would be most interested in asking you how she survived her capture by Neverwinter." She eyed the elf in front of her. "Your lover. Ha! And what is so special about you, that she should be your lover? Tell me, wizard. Are you some...powerful tool of hers, maybe? A plaything, like you are to me?" She slid the fork into her mouth, her expression amused as she chewed on her food, waiting.

Sand picked up a fork and with as much grace as Khelgar or Bishop at the dinner table, began shoveling food into his mouth. He hadn't eaten in days, he realized. The wine went down easily; it intermingled with the tightness in his mind and the words spilled from his lips, "I...I don't know why she is my lover. We both love wine; she said she found me intriguing and wanted to crack me. We were opponents in the trial. Arch nemesis." The smallest of a smile played across his lips and Sand realized quickly he was rambling but could not stem the tide of words, even if they made little sense to Nivarra. "She never killed me though she's certainly had the chances. I supposed I've shown her kindness as well. We speak well together; she's the only person who can have a decent conversation with me without me wanting to go play with a basilisk."

His fingers tightened on his fork. "Torio Claven is gone from this Plane. I sent her away; I don't know where she is now - but she is out of your reach, Luskan." He shivered slightly at her words - _a plaything _- before meeting her eyes defiantly.

Nivarra's eyes flashed only briefly. Her face remained impassive. "We'll see if she's out of anyone's reach, wizard. The Brotherhood has ways of finding snakes even down the deepest holes. The information you've given me will prove most useful." She chewed thoughtfully on another mouthful, washing it down with another swallow of wine. "You are not being polite," she chastised, a dangerous edge to her voice. "My name is Nivarra. You may call me Mistress. I would have your name as well, elf; it belongs to me now, along with the rest of you." She set her fork down, her plate half-demolished, and eyed him critically. "We shall need better robes for you; I will not have my name sullied by having such a waistrel as my pet. Tell me, wizard, why did Nasher send you to Luskan?"

She pushed herself from her chair, her skirts swishing as she walked around the table, her fingers tapping against her hips. Her voice was almost coy, teasing...she flicked a finger against his hair, sending the strands up into the air and then back against his neck. "You _and_ your precious Ambassador. It must have been something important, to risk you together...tell me, thing..." she bent close to Sand's ear, whispering lightly, "...what does our little Ambassador do to excite you? It must be _something_, for you to bed one of Neverwinter's greatest enemies. Do you have a taste for Luskan between your bedsheets, wizard?"

Sand bit down hard on his lips, fighting back against the geas. What would happen if he told her about the map while under oath from Nasher? What would happen when he received orders which conflicted against one geas or one oath?

He dug his fingers painfully into the wooden table. His stomach was churning, threatening to bring up the food he had just eaten. "We were expendable to Nasher; that was why we were sent, _Mistress._ He needed us to steal an artifact but somebody else beat us to it. A map. A magical map." Sand gagged and coughed when the geas rebelled against his lie. He was beginning to sweat profusely, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. "Oh gods...Torio...she used to speak to me in Drow and make me recite poetry for her."

It felt shameful to be telling a stranger about his most intimate moments with Torio. He felt the heat rising to his cheek, staining them pink even as he struggled with himself in his seat. "I don't have a taste for Luskan, Mistress...just her."

Nivarra burst out laughing, her voice smooth and melodic. "A blushing elf. My g_oodness,_ Elven poetry. If I knew a word of Elvish I just might make you recite for me, wizard." Her face grew suddenly thoughtful. "A map. There was a calamity a few days ago involving a map; something about the merchant selling it being murdered in his own bedroom. Would you have anything to do with that, by chance?" Her eyes narrowed slightly before she waved her hand dismissively. "No...they claimed it was a pair of humans. Still, I suppose this will all prove useful in time." Her voice grew suddenly cold. "You're done eating. Stand up."

She pushed her way back into the small laboratory. "Guard! I want a mattress in here and a blanket for my wizard. He is not to leave this room unless either myself or my father sends for him, do I make myself clear?" The guard at the door bobbed his head and disappeared, with her voice chasing him, "And bring me that list of spells!" Nivarra turned to Sand, her eyes glittering. "I would suggest you sleep, slave. My father has a list of spells you will memorize every night; some night it will change, depending on what he or I will require of you the next day. You are only afforded rest for that reason; irritate me, and I shall risk my father's wrath by not having you prepared." Her eyes roved over him for a moment...she seemed to be considering something, but after a long pause she merely flicked her brown hair over her shoulder and turned, moving towards her own bed chambers. "Memorize the spells! And...sleep tight."

Sand crawled on the mattress, exhausted. He had considered undressing for the night but felt wholly unsafe doing so. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and shivered. It took him many minutes to finally stop shaking; even then, as he pulled out his battered and worn spellbook from his pocket, his hands were trembling. One hand automatically went to the _ariik_ gem in his pocket. He hadn't put it back on after the fight with Torio. But now she was gone (but safe) and he was terribly alone in Luskan.

Sand quietly cast a _Mending _spell on the broken chain and slipped it around his neck before starting on the first spell. The list was not difficult, thankfully, and an hour later, Sand closed his eyes and slipped into a frightened, fitful sleep reassured only by the thought that where ever Torio was, she was at least safe.

A set of robes was laid out next to the sleeping wizard; the small, slight shape slithered around in the darkness, preparing the alchemy bench. Another blanket was laid out over the wizard's body, and a pillow was surreptitiously tucked under his head. The slight shadow slipped from the room, shutting the door quietly behind it, as if it was never there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Volume 3, Chapter 3 – Torio: Touch of the Sun**

The sun dawned the next morning, coming over the horizon in a brilliant burst of warm golden light. Ghero moved silently back to the woman's bedside and looked down at her. She was still asleep, frowning slightly. The poor child could not even find peace in her rest.

"Wake up, child. Wake up and see the glory that is Pelor." He waited until she had opened her eyes and sat up before he handed her a towel. "Here we bathe in tributaries of the River Oceanus. After you have bathed, break your fast with me."

Torio sat up, her eyes opening drowsily. She still felt tired, but there was a deep rooted restfulness that suffused her that hadn't been there since...any time that she could remember. Even with Sand there was always a nervous alertness; sneaking, hiding, waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps or the knock on a door...

Except once. In the safehouse; she had fallen asleep and had slept hard and without disturbance, hardly moving; just limp and relaxed and dead to the world, nestled against his body.

She took the proffered towel and nodded at him. "My thanks." Her feet were slightly unsteady, but firmly planted, and she walked uncertainly towards the small door to her room. Daylight was streaming through a small, round window towards the top of the wall, and in the light she saw she was in some sparse infirmary room of sorts. The door pushed open almost without her having to touch it, and she was walking down a long hall where an open rectangle of daylight showed her the route outside.

It was beautiful; Torio made her way unsteadily down towards the water, feeling slightly light-headed at the scene around her. The sky was brilliant hues of blue, pink, and gold in the rising sun, and the air carried every sweet scent of flower, grass, and clear, cool running river as she dropped the towel onto the bank. She looked around for a moment...outside of a few rather disinterested looking birds, she was alone.

Her bloodstained, torn clothing fell to the ground, followed by the quickly unraveled webbing around her torso. She spent a long time in the water, scrubbing her skin over and over, feeling its smoothness; she was ridiculously pleased that her wounds left no mark; _all that trouble to rid me of scars and all I do is collect more._ The blood, dirt, soot, exhaustion, and mental anguish all came off in the running water; the heartache and simmering indignation clung to her rather stubbornly.

When she re-entered the temple, shod again in her torn clothing, her hair towel dried and sticking up in all different angles, bells were ringing quietly from some far off room. She opened the door to the...her...room again, and peered inside.

Ghero looked up when Torio entered. He gestured to the bed. "Here. Some clean clothes for you. They might be a bit long." There was a simple beige shirt and some brown pants laid out with meticulous care on the bed. "When you are dressed, join me in the garden. We will eat outside."

Ghero followed the passageway outside, carrying a small wrapped bundle of food. He removed his slippers as he exited, stepping through the dewy grass and turned to face the sun, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of his god on his skin. Even the flowers of the garden were turning to face the rising orb and he muttered a quiet prayer of strength for the woman inside the temple.

Torio dressed, combing her fingers in her hair; she felt awkward, out of her element, armorless. No gowns or skirts, no heels and fine-flavored ointment to rub into her lips. _Not even books and candles._

When she finally found the garden, the priest was standing with an upturned face towards the morning sun, his eyes closed. She coughed, and said, with slight embarrassment, "I...ah, apologize, but I don't believe I was told your name."

Ghero turned and smiled at her. "I am Ghero, priest of Pelor, keeper of the grounds of the temple. I am human, like you, but was called by my god to serve on this plane." He reached into the bundle and gave her a small pastry. "A honeycake. Come with me on my morning rounds." He began walking barefoot along some unseen trail that wound its way through the flowers. The blossoms were a myriad of colors, pinks and blues, yellows and oranges, purples and whites. They almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. The birds were chirping earnestly overhead and further up in the skies, eagles could be seen swooping and soaring majestically.

He took a bite of his own breakfast, chewing slowly, before continuing, "You cannot stay at the temple indefinitely. Nor do I think you wish to. I will give you what you need for your journey but you must take your journey alone. You should know that you stand out to the citizens of this Plane, Torio, very much so. They will sense the evil taint on you; it will draw any hidden evil on Amoria to you." The priest turned and studied Torio again, his eyes staring deeply into her eyes, into her soul...

Ghero pointed to a bird, perched in a tree. It was large, nearly two feet long with a brilliant orange chest, and multihued crest on its head. It hopped closer to Torio, eyeing her with its intelligent red eyes before breaking out into a melodic song. Ghero smiled, "The Elysian thrush. His song will help heal you. He sings for you, Torio, for your benefit and not his. But he doesn't know you; he has never met you until today. Can you ever be this selfless? Can you ever value the life of a stranger?"

Torio practically inhaled the honeycake, her stomach growling plaintively as they walked through the grass. She listened quietly, surreptitiously licking her fingers, walking slightly behind the priest as he spoke.

The bird seemed to stare directly into her eyes, the awareness in his gaze completely unnerving...and then his voice floated through the air, and she half-shut her eyes in immediate awe. _Selfless_...

_Sand throwing himself into the path of ancient evil for the good of Faerun_...she supposed that was selfless, as well.

She sighed. "I don't know," she replied, honestly. "I see others act as such and a part of me...admires it." She glanced at the priest, her expression blank. "Another part pities them as fools; there are too many that would take advantage of such selflessnes." _The whole of Neverwinter comes to mind._

Ghero nodded. "Yes. I suppose you have had a hard life. And child, I am not telling you to not be cautious of those who would take advantage of you. But simply open your eyes and realize that not all the world _will_ take advantage of you." He gave her a piece of fruit - it was purple and round and unlike anything from Faerun, musing aloud. "Do you pity them because you know you would have taken advantage of their kindness?"

Torio watched the bird for a moment as it sang, her mouth twisting slightly. "I suppose there have been quite a few strangers that have come in to contact with me in the last few days that have saved my life without questioning; maybe they should have, but they didn't, and I'm..alive now, because of it. I suppose I am too used to being cautious, suspicious. It's wearying." She was surprised at this honesty, as well; these were thoughts she had never allowed herself to really think. They made the faces of the dead that haunted her too painful to face.

He laughed. "Oh Torio - perhaps you act out of habit and an old way of thinking that no longer applies to your new life." His eyes glittered intelligently. "If you were one to truly take advantage of kindness, would you not have pulled a weapon on us, demanded that we help you, give you our belongings? We are unarmed here. And yet you have made no such request. We have trusted each other in this brief time and it was beneficial, was it not? I have somebody to keep me company this morning on my rounds and you have your health and knowledge to return home."

Ghero bent down to inhale the sweet scent of a golden flower. "Face your past and you can enjoy your present and move on with your future. You walk with a heavy, guilt-ridden step. The grass bends and cowers beneath your feet. You carry a heavy burden." He turned and slowly began making his way back to the temple.

Torio surreptitiously lifted her foot slightly off the ground, glancing at the grass beneath it. _Hmmm... _She quickly caught up to the priest again, her mouth twitching slightly in a wry smile. "When one is skewered and dying, one tends to take advantage of any small kindness." She glanced at him and shook her head as she walked. "All right. Fine. So it was mutually beneficial to us to _not_ try and kill one another." She thought about how desperate she had been to get out of Luskan, to run, run back to the Keep, back..._home?_

She had a feeling she was trying to run from more than just a city. "It's not a burden easily shed." Torio ached all over for Sand; he had been an almost constant presence in her life for such a short time and yet suddenly having him gone...possibly dead, or dying...it was nearly unbearable. She rubbed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm tired, priest of Pelor. Wicked and conniving and utterly exhausted. I don't know how to be anything else. _Can_ I be anything else?"

Ghero looked up at her in surprise. "Of course child! The moon waxes and wanes, the sun rises and sets and travels across the skies. What makes you think you are immutable to change as well? You are human; you were born, you age and you will die and your soul will travel to its final destination." The priest walked back to the temple, where along the outer wall were two wooden buckets. "I am going to a nearby well to fetch the water for the day. What will you do?"

Torio eyed the priest shrewdly, then looked back at the two buckets. She could guess what the man was getting at. What was she, some monkey called to perform?

_What else are you going to do, Torio? Pare your nails all day?_

She had to admit, she was warming up to the soft-spoken priest. One more person who knew exactly who...what...she was, and still treated her with a flicker of dignity. "Do you need help?" she asked him quietly. "I suppose I can...help you, if you feel you need it."

Ghero handed her a bucket and picked up his own. "I don't need the help but I appreciate it. Helping others doesn't always mean helping those that need it or those who need it most." He began walking between some tall trees, swinging his bucket in the air, humming a hymn. The well was not far off, in the middle of a glade surrounded by low bushes.

The priest began lowering the rope, scooping up water in the well-bucket before raising it slowly again. Balancing his own bucket on the stone well, he carefully poured water into it and the put it on the ground, gesturing for Torio to do the same.

Torio followed suit, grunting slightly as a wave of dizziness overtook her; she lowered the bucket and filled it, then lifted it slowly, pouring its contents into her own. She pressed a hand to the side of the well for a moment, catching her breath as her vision swam and then righted itself. "You're welcome," she said dryly. "I suppose it would be the acme of foolishness to inquire why one would offer help to someone who doesn't need it?" She rested her elbow on the edge of her bucket, looking at him. "Don't you make someone weaker by offering them aid when they might become stronger for the struggle on their own?" She knew what the priest was getting at, but there were nagging doubts, euphemisms and simple truths that she head learned from her own sweat and blood and suffering; it was, at the moment, difficult to reconcile the two worlds as one.

Ghero nodded, "You offer your own wisdoms with those words. We all must struggle day to day. This much is true. Our own struggles lead us to growth. The growing seed must push through the soil to feel the touch of the sun."

He picked up his bucket and began walking back to the temple, still swinging his bucket lightly and letting some of the water slosh over the side. "But one does not have to struggle alone. And one can ease the burden of another, so that more difficulties may be overcome. And think - to learn of the hardship of another is to add knowledge to your life's experience, to either avoid a similar situation in the future or to know how to best handle it."

He cast her a sidelong glance. "Tell me, Torio, you are so eager to return to Abeir-Toril to help your lover. Would it not be better for him to struggle on his own to be stronger?"

Torio faltered only a step as she followed the priest, her bucket swinging heavily from her arm. After a long, rather tense pause, she said sardonically, "I see your point." Could Sand get himself out of whatever most certainly catastrophic mess he was in right now? Possibly; eventually, he could probably do it from sheer bloody-mindedness, if he survived long enough.

She wasn't willing to wait for eventually.

After a few steps, she added, "I want to help him, though, for obvious reasons. How can you summon such desire to help a total stranger?" She thought back to the spies that had aided them through Neverwinter, to Abelor's willingness to fight for them despite their obviously shady reasons for leaving Luskan. "It's difficult for me to fathom having such a compulsion," she said quietly, shifting the bucket to her other hand as her arm began tingling with the exertion. "What drives people to do such things?"

Ghero chuckled quietly a moment, his eyes lighting up with mirth. "The good always question the evil; the evil always question the good. You - you seem to question everyone, including yourself. Thorny questions, child." He continued to walk lightly along the path, his bucket now half empty because of the way he was swinging it. "If you look at every life as precious, then the desire to help becomes much less difficult. At one point, your lover was a stranger, was he not? Every stranger can become a lover, a friend, a confidant or even an enemy. But first they must start as a stranger."

"In truth, Torio, I do not know why people do good just as how I do not know why people do evil. Perhaps their god or goddess compels them to. Perhaps they hope to gain favor and power, either in this life or the afterlife. Perhaps some have no choice, no other way of acting. Tell me - do you know why you did your great evil?"

Torio was silent for a long moment. "Favor was definitely a motivation," she said quietly. "My Master...former Master, gave me a life I couldn't have had otherwise. I felt oddly indebted to him; when he asked me...us...to do something, we complied without hesitation. We...I...would have done anything necessary, anything he asked. I shudder to think what would have happened to us had we refused him anything."

She watched his bucket almost in hypnotized fascination...did he realize he was spilling almost all of it by swinging it so carelessly? "And I must admit, a part of me delights in...inspiring fear. Awe. Terror, what have you. It's a powerful feeling. Killing was commonplace where I spent my life; there was not the reverence for life that you see in many places around my world." Her mouth drew in a taught line. "And a part of me wanted to be seen as ruthless, cold. Uncaring. They were things that the people I wanted to impress admired." Her voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else, somewhere farther and darker than the brilliant field she was walking through. "I don't know what that means, in terms of good and evil," she said quietly. "I don't think I know what anything means, anymore."

Ghero mulled over her words thoughtfully. "So you sacrificed the lives of many in order to preserve your way of life? Perhaps then, Torio, it is time you think about the price _they_ paid to you and what you choose to do with it." They had reached the temple again and the priest led them around to the back, where a large barrel sat empty. He poured in his meager portion of water and then gestured for Torio to do the same.

He turned and began walking towards the well again. "Yes, awe, terror - all those things you have described - they tempt us and draw us into darkness, away from Pelor's light. Let me put this simply: did it make you happy? Did you sleep well at night? Would you struggle to leave the Blessed Fields of Elysium to return to your old master?"

Torio lifted up her bucket, muscling it up to the edge of the barrel and tipping it over; she had walked stiffly and steady and most of the water was still in tact. She leaned on the empty bucket for a moment, glancing at Ghero. "No," she said evenly. "To all of the above. I used to think survival was paramount; happiness was a luxury." Her mouth twitched in a smile, but her eyes were hollow. "I suppose my...he changed that. I couldn't imagine living the type of life I used to lead, not now. " _Not without him._ "The thought is unbearable."

She lowered her bucket. "What do I do then, Ghero? I do not have a mother-savior bone in my body; I cannot raise the dead, or undo what I've done." There was a slightly hopeless note in her voice as she watched him, her fingers white knuckled as she clutched the bucket handle.

Ghero gently took the bucket from her and crossed the grass back to the path to the well. "First thing, child, is you help me fill the barrel. That is the first thing you do. Walk beside me, keep me company. You can raise the water from the well." His bare feet hardly made a brushing sound against the grassy trail. "When you are done helping me, you will prepare to leave the temple. Tomorrow at dawn's first light, you will receive my final blessings and then you will go. Then you meditate upon each of the lives you took and what you think they would want you to do. And then you go from there. I am sorry, Torio, but there is no simple answer that will allow you to find your peace."

They had reached the well again and the priest put the first bucket on the stone well, waiting for Torio to move to the rope. "You had asked earlier if I thought you could change; I believe, quite firmly, that you already have, judging from your answer. You have no desire to return to your past life or your past master. That is a change. A great change."

Torio began lowering the bucket, her hands smarting slightly from the rough rope; her palms were smooth and without calluses, and the hewn rope felt inordinately harsh against her skin. _No simple answer._ Well, that wasn't anything less than what she expected. She waited until the bucket was high above the rim of the well, water sploshing gently over its edge as it swayed slightly back and forth.

"I suppose it would be a bit difficult to have lived through this past week and _not_ change," she said quietly, her arms straining to hold the rope. "And I...suppose I had a little help." Her thoughts were ever circling around Sand, but she merely reached out a hand and steadied the bucket with her fingers.

Ghero took the well-bucket from Torio and emptied it into the first bucket. He released the empty well-bucket back into the well and then lowered the full carrying bucket to the grass. When both buckets were filled, the priest and Torio began walking back towards the barrel, Ghero carrying both buckets again, swinging them merrily. "Sometimes all we need is a little help. As your journey through Amoria, you will need a little help and I am certain you will give a little help. As you are helping me now." They reached the barrel again, Ghero's two buckets half emptied, and he poured them in. The priest examined the barrel and then said to Torio, "Three more trips and we'll be done

It wasn't necessarily grueling work, albeit repetitive. They walked back and forth, filling the water barrel and then coming back to the well for more. It was almost mindless, this type of work; her mind settled into a not unpleasant blankness, her thoughts happy to rest for a moment, and after their second trip back to the well, Torio asked, "What is Amoria like? What can I expect?"

Ghero pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Guardinals. The avorals are the winged guards, often used as scouts. You've already met Benignus - he is a cervidal. They make up the main components of any army we have." He waited for Torio to pour in the water; she was adept with her motions even if she was not strong and very little water spilled over the sides.

"Equinals are the horsemen. You will definitely see and hear them a mile away as they are quite jovial creatures. The leonals have true skill with weapons; our Prince in fact, is a leonal. You shan't see any of the mustevals used as spies and unless you wander into some of the bigger cities with librairies and archives, you won't meet any ursinals, the bearlike men who serve as our thinkers." They had reached the barrel again and Ghero dumped in the water. "You will undoubtedly meet lupinals. To you, they will appear as Abeir-Toril's werewolves and I suppose they are similar, but unlike those savage beasts, lupinals are intelligent and regal. They are our hunters, working in packs to drive out evil from Elysium. They are law-abiding but they are fierce and quick to anger. Until you atone for your actions, child, your scent will draw them to you."

On the third and final trip back to the well, the priest advised her, "Of course you will meet citizens of the plane - all manner of humans, elves, halflings...animals, creatures big and small. Follow the River Oceanus. There are two bridges you can use to cross the river if you do not ferry across. One is the White Feather bridge. You will recognize it because it looks like a swan stretched across the waters; it is a very small bridge though and there is often a wait to cross. A larger bridge is to the north but...the view from the White Feather is spectacular and divine. I would recommend it; it is worth the wait."

They were back to the barrel now and Ghero dumped in the last of the water. He leaned against the barrel, dropping the two empty buckets to the ground. "The longer you spend here, the less likely it is you will want to leave. The Plane will infuse you with tranquility, peace and acceptance. Memories of your past life will fade and you will begin a life anew here. Are you certain you wish to return to the Prime Material Plane, Torio? Perhaps your lover sent you here, at great risk, for a reason."

Torio stared at Ghero thoughtfully, her eyes hard. _Of course he did, the reason was the blade that had slid beneath her ribs... _He had told her to be happy, when they lay together on board the ship. She looked at the scene surrounding them; the temple stood tall amidst the scattered trees in the meadow, the faint keening of eagles still occasionally reaching her ears. "It's beautiful here," she admitted. "We shall have to see." He had told her to be happy; but she hadn't ever been such, not even close, until one night in the Library of Crossroad Keep.

She processed everything he had told her. "Will the lupinals attack, then? How do I defend myself?" Torio arched a brow at Ghero meaningfully. "Or should I? I am no warrior, and unused to taking to the road; this trip will be taxing enough without having to add intermittent fighting to it, as well."

Ghero shook his head, "No the lupinals won't attack you. They only attack those of great evil. You are more..." He reached out and touched her cheek, before answering, "Undecided."

He chuckled. "If anything, they will question you and your motives and then leave you be. But you may have to answer to several different packs of lupinals so try not to lose your temper at the repetition." The priest entered the temple again, holding the door open for Torio.

Standing in the front foyer was Benignus. He turned when Torio entered. "Ah lovey! Glad to see you up and about. I brought you this." He presented her with a single large strawberry, a brilliant scarlet red with a bright rich green top. "I found it on my patrols, picked it from the plant and thought of you. You can't visit Elysium without trying one of our strawberries."

Ghero grinned at the cervidal and then whispered, loudly, to Torio, "He brings strawberries to all the girls we have here...Benignus, will you help her prepare for her journeys? I must begin my noon prayers."

The satyrlike man nodded and then proffered an arm to Torio. "Let's find you a pack, some clothes, a waterskin..."

Torio glanced bemusedly to Ghero before taking the cervidal's arm. "Lead the way, good sir." She took the strawberry, eyeing it appreciatively. "It almost doesn't look real..." She sniffed it as Benignus walked her towards the storage rooms; the scent was delicious all by itself, ripe and sweet and fresh.

She looked up at the cervidal as they walked into a large, shelved room, all manner of dried foodstuffs, piles of linen clothing, weapon racks, rolled maps, knapsacks, shoes, hats, cloaks... "So who..._exactly_...am I going to find in order to return to Toril? And will I need..." How to put this delicately? "Compensation? I doubt I will be aided out of the goodness of anyone's heart..." She paused, shooting the cervidal a wry look. "Well...this place may be the exception."

Benignus began stuffing a pack full of supplies. "Do you do any magic? Will you need wands, or components? You probably won't need a weapon but pick something out just in case..." He rummaged through the stack of maps until he found a small one she could carry with ease.

"You must find either the Prince or one of his Five Companions, lovey. It will not be easy - they do not stay and reside in a palace or a mansion; they will be constantly on the move, fighting evil in the planes. You will have to earn the trust of their guardinals or soldiers and they will know how to lead you to them." He turned and took her hands in his. "Trust in yourself. Your journey will not be a straightfoward one. The journey of goodness never is. You will find yourself moving forward, backwards and side to side but trust in yourself. You will find more friends than enemies here; it is a good place as any, for one such as yourself to start a new life."

Torio walked towards one of the weapon racks, looking at the strange accoutrements distastefully. There was some sickle type weapon, a staff with a leaf-shaped blade on the end, a pair of nunchucks, a few dull looking sais...she finally found a small, simple dagger, and picked it up; it badly needed a polishing, and the edge was most likely dull than not, but it was something. She found a simple, un-adorned staff, as well, and took it. If all else failed it would make a decent walking stick, and she could always use it for firewood.

She found a suitable pair of boots; a bit too large for her small feet, but they were comfortable enough. A belt went around her waist, and she sheathed the dagger in it at her side, tugging on the leather so that it rested comfortably on her hips. She pulled a few articles of clothing that weren't as badly moth-ridden as the rest, and grabbed a rather fine, well-made cloak, looking almost as if it had never been worn before.

Torio felt suitably daunted by the road ahead of her; she was hardly used to "roughing" it, she had no knowledge of the woodlands or how to survive in the countryside; she would have to leap frog between towns and plan her route according to where civilization decided to plant it's roots along the way. And that would take longer. "So a leonal Prince is going to listen to _me_? How can I be assured that he will even see me once I find him?" She peered out the window at the sunny, clear sky..._Hopefully the weather doesn't change._

Benignus looked her up and down. "You look fit for the road, lovey. Tomorrow at dawn, I will meet you here and I will walk with you to the edge of my Demesne." He handed her the pack. " 'Compensation' here will be different than on Abeir-Toril, but I have included some gold pieces in your pack for you. There should be enough food to last you until the next town but the earth here is bountiful. Fear not the plants."

The cervidal exited the storage room and led her back to her sleeping quarters. "There are never any guarantees but Prince Talisid is wise and knowing. Unlike the others of this Plane...he understands goodness _and_ evil. It is said he has spent years studying the ways of the Planes, the good, the evil, the lawful and the chaotic. Speak to him honestly and he will decide fairly and benevolently. I must take my leave of you now, Torio Claven, but I will see you tomorrow morning."

"Goodbye." She watched the cervidal disappear down the hallway, her stomach churning. The pack and supplies they had gathered were placed off to the side; she slipped out of the belt, boots, cloak, and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge in almost a daze.

She sat for a long time, going over events in her mind; Asrar's party, the tower, the safehouse, the ship...It had been a fairly simple, cut and dried mission; what frustrated her immeasurably was that they were on their way _out_, they had almost made it...

The gods of Toril had a cruel streak; that was undeniable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Volume 3, Chapter 4 – Sand: Reprehensible**

"Slave!!"

Nivarra kicked open the door, skirts swishing; it was still early morning, the sun barely having poked above the horizon, but she was wide awake. She rarely slept past dawn as it was, but this morning her eyes had a hardened wariness to them. Her father had been intensely interested in what she had relayed to him last night...

She planted a none-too-gentle booted foot into Sand's ribs, impatience getting the better of her. "Up, now. Get dressed. Guard! Take my slave to the washroom and allow him to clean himself, we can't have our guests fleeing at the very smell of him." She peered down at the elf stretched horizontal below her. "Please my father today and it may go well with you, thing. Annoy him and I swear to the gods, I will take it from your hide. Now up!"

Sand gave a pained moan as he was kicked awake, scrambling to his hands and knees just as he was hauled into the bathing room. The door was slammed shut behind him. He leaned against the tin tub, closing his eyes and letting the ache from his ribs pass, before undressing slowly. He climbed into the tub of lukewarm water and began scrubbing himself off, rinsing out his long hair. The water was soothing; he let himself drop beneath the surface, closing his eyes, holding his breath...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sand sat up with a start and quickly jumped from the tub, pulling a towel around him even as the guard yanked the door open. "Do not keep her waiting, elf." Sand nodded mutely and followed him back to the small laboratory. There was a beautiful burgundy robe waiting for him. Sand pick it up gingerly and then slipped into it, tying up the laces and pulling on the accompanying leggings. He walked up to the guard, "I supposed I'm ready as I'll ever be seeing as how I have no idea what I'm supposed to be ready for."

"You don't need to know, slave. You simply obey." Nivarra was at the doorway, her hair swept up elegantly from her plain face. Her eyes studied him critically for a moment, before she nodded, once, sharply. "You'll suffice. Follow me; do not step in front of me, ever, when I take you somewhere. Do not look our guests in the eye; you are not afforded that privilege yet." She turned, and walked smartly from the room, her heeled slippers tocking against the flagstones in an eerie parody of another Luskan woman...

The guard gave Sand an ungentle shove, and they moved from the room, walking down a long, winding hallway that seemed to pass from one magnificent house to another, tall, clear windows siding the walls and revealing a view of an expansive, walled in estate. Nivarra walked straight ahead, neither glancing left or right as they moved. At the end of the hallway a door opened before they got too near it, allowing them entry into a large, circular hall.

Glyphs, symbols, runes, all were etched into the floor. Nivarra's father stood waiting, his hands crossed impassively behind his back, while before him stood a quivering young man, dressed in a ragged, torn uniform of the household guards. Two other guards stood to either side of him, their swords drawn and pointed to where the man stood.

Nivarra's father eyed Sand intensely as they approached. "Wizard," said the human. "You will do exactly as I say." He tossed a pouch towards Sand. "Components. If you need others, one of my guards will fetch them. Cast what I tell you to, when I tell you."

He turned, facing the young man squarely. "Tirutio," he said almost kindly. "I'm going to ask you what was taken from my late wife's dressing bureau, and you're going to tell me the truth, aren't you?" He waited, eyeing the young man calmly.

Sand caught the pouch, his mind turning over itself. _Oh gods no. He had escaped this, so many years ago. Please, Mystra - be merciful and forgive me..._

Nivarra's father was a tall human, with graying hair and eyes as sharp as his daughter. Nivarra had moved to the side of the room, her mouth drawn in a bored line but her eyes never left Sand. The room smelled of metal, magic and blood; a haunting desperation seemed to hang heavy in it. Sand recognized the markings on the floor: wards, curses, blessings...

He looked back up and stared at the young guard, hoping and praying the man would tell the truth and he could just go back to his little chambers...

The guard's knees were trembling slightly. "Master Dornan...please...it weren't me that went into her things, I was in the room before it was even opened. I swear it!"

One of the guards pointing the blade towards the man glanced over towards Nivarra's father. "He does speak true, Master; the bureau was unopened when he went inside the room."

"That tells me _nothing_, you pathetic piece of empty hide." Dornan's eyes were cold as he looked down at the guard. "Why must your kind constantly do this to me, Tirutio? How hard is it to receive a little honesty from those who work for me?" Dornan's eyes flicked to Sand's face briefly. "Bigby's Crushing Hand, wizard...I believe his left leg will do."

Sand opened the pouch, began looking for the eggshells that would be consumed by the spell when he swallowed quietly and said, "Are you certain? The other guard has corroborated his answer...we don't need to waste a spell on something that you know is already true..."

Dornan's face became hard. "Nivarra."

The Luskan woman was striding forward in a heartbeat. "You will do as your told." She swung her hand, her boney-knuckles connecting with the side of Sand's face as she backhanded him, using her human size to advantage. "Do what my father says, or I will break you myself."

The guard was staring at Sand with wide, pleading eyes. "P...please," was all he could manage to get out, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Sand felt the force of the geas pressing on his body; that spurred him on more than Nivarra's cruel hand. His cheek stung where she had slapped him and he raised a hand, touching his face. He gave the girl a cold look, meeting her brown eyes full on, before softening his gaze at the guard. Sand said, simply, "I'm sorry," and cast the spell.

A gray, misty hand suddenly appeared over the frightened guard and Sand gestured at the man's left leg. The hand immediately furled itself around the limb and began squeezing. Sand closed his eyes but he couldn't block his ears from the man's agonized screams.

For a moment, Sand was back in the Hosttower again, listening to the farmer he had tortured scream. Beg for his life and then beg for death. He remember the strange dissociation that had happened to him; how it seemed as though he had stepped outside his own body and watched some strange, dark haired elf administer spell after painful spell until the man lay twitching before him.

It was just a simple farmer too. No secrets to hide, nothing malicious. Now just a simple guard. Sand kept his eyes closed.

"Gods, mercy!" The guard had tears of agony running down his cheeks. "I swear, Master! I swear on me life I didn't touch her things! It was closed when I..._aaaaaah!_...when I came in and it was closed when I left..." The man was babbling incoherently, writhing against the guard's grip, their blades swaying dangerously close to his body as he wriggled and spasmed.

Dornan watched the man for a moment longer before he held out a hand. "Enough," he said sharply. "Captain Fugard..."

"Master!"

"The next time you bring me a suspect to interrogate, make sure that they are _guilty._ Or you will be next."

The guard to the now sobbing man's left swallowed, and then bowed. "Yes, Master."

"Nivarra!"

The woman bowed. "Father."

"Your wizard hasn't seemed to caught the gist of what we're doing here. You will educate him."

Nivarra's cruel eyes darted towards Sand's face, a sneer on her lips. "Yes father."

"Get out of my sight."

Nivarra turned and rapidly began walking back down the long hallway. The guard behind Sand gave him another shove in her direction and he obediently trotted after her. What else was he to do? Stay in the room to have her father command him to torture more innocents?

Sand would take his chances with the girl.

He glanced out the large windows, at the blue skies above. He could see seagulls flying in the distance, over the harbor. Mere stupid beasts and yet freer than he could ever hope to be. He wondered briefly what his companions at the Keep were doing. Did they even realize he was gone or had they replaced him by now? Had Gend received word of his failed return? Did Duncan now own his shop? Would Elanee continue to care for Jaral? A multitude of thoughts flickered through his brain as he passed the glass panes until the hallway grew darker as she led them into her chambers.

Nivarra dismissed the guards with a lazy snap of her wrist and then closed the door, locking it. The Luskan turned, her eyes furious. "You dare," she hissed, taking a step towards him, "To question my father's orders again, and I will have you beaten within an inch of your life." She grabbed a bottle from the shelf, some indeterminable potion, and swung it, connecting with Sand's head. The bottle shattered spectacularly, liquid splashing all over the room, glass flying in every direction. "Do you think that I am merely jesting when I tell you that _you are mine?_" Another bottle, brought down on Sand's shoulder. "You will do _as I say_, without hesitation! You will obey!" She pulled a bottle from the alchemy bench and threw it at him; the various liquids were sizzling and bubbling as they mixed with each other on the floor and on Sand's body. Her hair was coming undone, strands falling wildly around her face.

She stood there, glaring at him for a long moment, her fingers curled into taloned claws at her sides...then she sucked in a deep breath, and as if a switch was flipped, her demeanor was cool and calm once more. She smoothed her hair down, and turned, walking from the room. "I expect you to brew replacements for those potions," She said sharply as she left the room. "And clean up this mess."

Sand stood there, stunned, as his eyes followed her out of the room. It was only when the thin rivulet of blood trickled down his forehead and down the side of his nose that he snapped out of his shocked reverie. He carefully touched the top of his head; when he pulled his hand away, it was dotted with blood. His lips pressed together in a firm line and he went quickly to the alchemical bench where he uncorked a healing potion, drinking it down.

He stood at the desk, gripping the wood and thinking. Torio, for all her temper, had never raised an ill hand against him - either because of the enchantments on the bracelet or because she wasn't the abusive type. But Nivarra was utterly unstable, possibly even more unstable than that ranger, Bishop. Sand cast _Unseen Servant _and commanded the ghostly apparition to begin picking up the broken pieces of glass and wiping up the spilled potions.

He began setting up the alchemical equipment, pulling out jars of dried ingredients. He always could think best when he was working. Making potions came second nature to him and as he began grinding up dried leaves, he considered his situation very carefully. He could always continue to resist her and her father, bringing down not only their wrath but the damaging and sickening effect of the geas as well. Why would he protest - because they had asked him to do things he found reprehensible?

But it was not as though he had much of a choice in the matter now.

Or he could give in. It would be the easier of things to do. He used to do all things Luskan required of him without question, once. He could earn their trust and perhaps curry their favor. Life would certainly be easier. They were human; he was an elf. He would outlive them in the long run if he could survive his service.

And if he had their trust, and they began granting him small privileges? Perhaps he could use it to find a way to escape.


	5. Chapter 5

**Volume 3, Chapter 5 – Torio: Detour**

The activity of the temple dropped off the minute the sun set. Torches were lit by each doorway; otherwise the entire temple was dark as the priests and priestesses slept. The night air was only punctuated by the occasional call of a nightbird and some buzzing insects. When the sun dawned again, Ghero was by Torio's bedside immediately. Unlike the night before, she slept with a serene expression and the priest nodded, pleased. She was letting the soothing atmosphere of the plane help her. He knelt by her bed and whispered softly, "Wake up, child. Your journey begins today."

It was almost jarring; she had just begun to sink into the idyllic, peaceful rhythm of the temple when she was suddenly leaving. She wished she could stay one more day...

She caught herself suddenly as she swung her legs around on the bed and reached for her stockings and boots. _It's already starting._ She steeled her resolve, moving to where her things waited; Ghero was watching her impassively as pulled on the belt and cloak, slipped the pack on her shoulders and grabbed the staff.

She faced him. "I'm ready."

Ghero put his hands on either side of her face and closed his eyes, praying for her. He prayed that Pelor would guide her, in his infinite strength and wisdom, to safety and peace, goodness and light. The yellow light of the room seemed to brighten and then the rays flowed into Torio's body. She glowed a moment, from the inside out and then the brightness faded.

Torio closed her eyes as a sudden wash of warmth, of purifying heat seared through her. _Refiner's fire..._

Ghero took a step back and then handed her his golden prayer beads. "For you. May it comfort you in your darkest hours. If others question you, show them this and tell them Ghero gave it to you with a blessing. Benignus is waiting you outside. May Pelor's blessing be with you. I do not know if we will ever see each other again, but I will pray for you everyday."

She felt a twang of gratitude, of affection, of..._sadness_, that the kindly priest of Pelor had been so kind to her, without any real reason for doing so. "Thank you. And not just...for healing me." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll remember the things you said."

Torio turned and slipped from the room, feeling a strange, uneasy nervousness...and an excited disquiet. She was finally on the move, even though it might take her a while to reach her goal_...but it was a start._

She stepped out into the dawn light, smiling at the cervidal that was waiting for her. "Good morning, Benignus."

The cervidal took her arm gallantly. "Good morning Torio! Let's not tarry - you've said your goodbyes? Good good." They began walking away from the temple, across the grass towards the main branch of the river. The rising sun was so bright it was almost painful; the heated rays were beginning to evaporate the dew from the grass. He pointed out the various flora and fauna to Torio, pleased that she was a quick study. "My, aren't you a bright gem! All right, if you believe you're so smart, what's that bird then?"

The game went on a while longer until they reached the River and Benignus stopped them for lunch. He laid out a blanket on the grass along the banks of the rushing, clear waters and pulled out fresh fruit from his pack. "Save your own food for your journey!" He took a red fruit that looked almost like an apple and laid back on the blanket, staring up at the clouds. He pointed to a shape, "Dog, running, carrying a bone!"

Torio plopped onto the blanket, feeling slightly winded already. _This was going to take some getting used to._ She lay back gratefully, squinting up at the brilliant sky and trying to pick out the shape the cervidal was pointing at. "A dog? All I can see are Amorian parrotlets and Red-breasted nightingales." She chuckled, stretching; the random, ridiculous games they had played while they walked had put her in a relaxed, almost happy state of mind.

She watched the clouds for a long moment, and then pointed. "A bear, I presume...possibly going after your precious dog?"

Benignus chuckled, "I see no bear anywhere, Torio! At best, I see...a hulking...four legged...hmmm..." He tilted his head to the left and then to the right. "Fine. It is a bear. I concede your point." He bit into the fruit again and said sadly. "I am afraid this is where we must part, lovey. The main River is the border of the territory that I must protect. I do hope we meet again." He sat up and plucked a small violet flower and handed it to her. "Safe travels. Stick to the River and you won't accidentally wander into Bytopia or the Beastlands..." He waited until she had sat up as well and gave her a tight hug. "Take care, lovey. I hope you find peace."

Torio hugged the cervidal back in surprise, her expression pleasantly bemused; the violet hung between her fingers, the smell cloyingly sweet even after the blossom was picked. "Thank you," She said. "For helping me. And saving my life, I suppose." She would probably still be on that hill if he hadn't happened along when he did, bleeding and dying and wasting everything Sand had done to get her here...

She stood up, slinging her pack back over her shoulders. "The river it is, then." She smiled slightly at him and lifted her hand slightly in farewell; the smile felt unfamiliar and wonderful, and she turned, walked lightly along the bank, twisting the stem of the violet into her belt. She glanced over her shoulder once, looking back at Benignus a last time before rounding a bend, the trees cloaking him from sight.

All around Torio the colors were bright, lush, unnaturally pure in their hues. Even the dulcet singsong chatter of the birds seemed more sweet and symphonious. In the rushing River, silvery fish would leap up into the air, catching the bright rays of the sun, gleaming like polished metal before splashing back down. A small herd of deerlike animals followed her along the banks of the River a bit, watching her with large liquid brown trusting eyes before they began grazing. There were very few travelers along her path; those she met were courteous and polite, always answering her questions. The last pair she encountered, two impossibly composed looking half-elves, informed her that the nearest village was less than half a day's journey in front of her.

Torio stopped for a rest; it was late afternoon, and she could literally stand on the bank and watch the small riverboats float past her; the foot traffic was light, but the travelers taking the river increased steadily as she neared the town. She was weary, sticky, slightly hungry; the road dust seemed light, here, barely disturbed as she walked along the bank, but the water still looked desperately inviting...

She leaned on her staff for a long moment, listening to the noises around her, lifting her hand in greeting every time a friendly voice shouted from a passing boat. It was almost idyllic; compared to the frenzied struggle of survival she had been involved in the last week, it was almost a shock to be surrounded by such beauty, such apparently good-hearted people.

She was shocked out of her reverie from a shuffling noise coming behind her; a voice said, surprisingly close to her, "You don't belong here, do you, traveler?"

Dahras had sensed the strange shifting motives of the woman before him hours earlier. He had left the main pack, following her from a distance, his lupine feet barely making a sound over the grass as he carefully tracked her. She _seemed _harmless enough; other travelers interacted with her, she spoke with them - no alarm was ever raised.

And now she was before him. "Turn around, slowly, traveler." He waited until she was facing him before approaching her, holding up his furred hands to show that he was unarmed. He was dressed in greens and browns, his pack secure on his back. "What are you doing here?" He sniffed her; she smelled _mortal_ and there was a blackness that clung to her, faint, wispy, but irrevocably there.

Torio felt her heart jump as she turned, facing the lupine-featured creature before her. His voice was deep, gutteral; there was a succinct crispness to his words, an intelligent light in his eyes, but there was a feral growl that was almost unperceivable at the end of his words; as if he were saying two things to her at once. The words formed a question; the rolling thunder underneath the words said, _Do not toy with me._

"I was sent here," she said cautiously, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. "I'm looking for a route back to my world. I'm just...traveling." She resisted the urge to avert her gaze, attempting to look as unafraid as possible. She _was_ just traveling, and she had nothing to hide. Not particularly...

Dahras studied her. She was holding something back; she didn't trust him. But that was not enough reason to attack or make any ill move towards her. He found himself unable to leave her be. Something about her was odd, different. She was standing before him, her face held a calm resolve and yet, a subtle fear was shimmering beneath her calm exterior. "Fine, traveler. I will accompany you," he said gruffly but not unkindly. He turned and began walking beside her, his movements all practiced and deliberate. "I am Dahras. The woods in this area are under the watchful eye of my pack. I have been following you a while, human. You are from Toril, yes? I can smell it on you. Who sent you here? _Why do you seek to return? That is unusual._"

Torio walked along the bank, keeping her eyes on the path before them. Honesty, remember. "Yes, I am from Toril. A wizard Wished me here; I was wounded, mortally so, and he was my...my lover. He was trying to save me." She could still remember the look on his face; the invisibility spell gone, the mage casting at him, his eyes wild, a hopeless, determined look on his face..._Goodbye Torio. I love you._

She blinked rapidly. "I need to get back to him," she said firmly. "He might be in danger...he _is _in danger." She wiped an arm across her forehead. "I can very well imagine that wanting to return is unusual," she said wryly, risking a glance at the wolf-like creature. "It is beautiful here."

Dahras nodded slowly, "Ah your story explains much about what I sensed about you. You have not...released your memories of your life to this Plane yet to become a petitioner." His eyes brightened and he gave an almost puppy-like yip. "Come with me, meet the pack. We travel extensively and with us you would have the best chances of finding Prince Talisid or the Lieutenants. Many lupinals have gone to Toril to serve in the fight against evil but I have served my whole life here. But..." He looked around and said in a hushed voice, "In case you haven't noticed, there's not much evil here. I want to fight _real _evil and serve my Prince." He eyed her as they walked. "So wizard-lover, do you have a name? Or do I continue to call you wizard-lover?" He pulled a waterskin from his side, lapping at the cool liquid before offering it to Torio.

Torio smirked. "My name is Torio," she said. "Lead the way, Dahras. Anything that will help me reach this Prince." She mulled over his words for a moment as they turned and pushed through the trees. "A great evil, you say...on Toril, there is something. A war, that my...my country has been preparing for these past months. A very dangerous creature, a creature connected directly with the Shadow Weave, is threatening quite a substantial area of the world." She ducked a low hanging branch, which was impressive; she didn't come that far off the ground as it was. "If you chose to...or if your Prince allowed it, I suppose, I know a group of defenders that could use the help."

_Technically recruiting is part of my duties..._And the creatures would be more reliable than Jhalboun of the Two Blades, at least. Dahras moved rather swiftly through the underbrush, and soon she was almost panting trying to keep up, her shorter legs kicking up a trail of dirt behind them.

Dahras slowed his steps, "A dangerous creature? What type of creature? Were you injured in the efforts of this war? My pack will be keen to hear of this." His deep voice was rumbling with interest.

Torio spoke breathlessly as they walked. "A guardian created by an ancient race that no longer exists; it's a thing of magic, but it's been corrupted; and it attacks anything it sees as a threat to the dead civilization it used to protect." She wiped her brow again, pushing branches out of her path with her staff. "Currently it views my...my city, and all of it's people, as a threat, merely because they exist on the old lands once belonging to these dead people."

They stopped a short while later to rest and refill their waterskins. Dahras leaned against a tall pine tree; as Torio caught up to him, he held out a hand for her pack. "We're not too far now. I'll carry your pack for you." He spoke as he bent over the stream, letting the water slowly fill the stretched skin. "My pack is led by Chaksa. She has been leader for many moons. She is both wise and fearsome and...she may have her reservations about you, Torio. Humans are typically not well tolerated in the packs, simply because you can't keep up with us on our patrols and hunts. But I swear to you, she will not hurt you. Nor do I think she will turn you away - we cannot let you wander the Plane when your lover could be in danger and you have pledged to return."

She gratefully handed the wolf creature her pack, stretching her back as they rested. "Thank you," she said. "And for the help as well; I do not relish wandering aimlessly with only the name of the Prince as my only clue on where to go." Ghero's words floated through her head, and she shut her eyes in pained, almost amused acceptance before saying, "Is there anything I can help you with as recompense?"

Dahras gave her a bemused look. "No, not at the moment. I don't need recompense." He laughed, his laughter sonorous and rich. "Trying to learn the ways of Amoria? We do not...barter...services the way you do on Toril. We simply act or do not act. And you can choose to act or not act. That way your actions of good are not determined or influenced by another person's actions or a feeling of debt and obligation." He scratched his furry head. "Does that make sense? It how my pack works."

He picked up a rock and began idly tossing it from one hand to the other. "This evil you face, sounds daunting. Sounds dangerous and very real." He gave her a feral grin and a wink, "Sounds fun."

Torio snorted laughingly. "Fun," she said dryly. "I never looked at fighting an ancient and power evil that way, before." Mostly she had looked at in through the eyes of a woman who would most certainly lose her lover and possibly her own life to its unstoppable carnage.

_Instead, you lost him a lot sooner than you thought, and to Luskan, of all places..._

He stood, stretching and then shouldering the two packs. "Come, we'll travel another hour or so and then rest again. We should find my pack at the campsite, about 3 hours away."

Torio swallowed the tightness in her throat and picked up her pace, matching Dahras' pace for a moment. She watched the lupinal curiously as they began walking again, shaking her head. "I have to confess I'm completely unused to these methods of...well, living." Her staff whacked out against a branch, holding it to the side as she passed around it. "What is it like, living in a pack?

"Living in packs, have you never lived with a family before?" Dahras tilted his head to the side, looking very much like a dog for a moment. "Well - imagine...living with your entire family, your aunts, uncles, cousins and all your friends. And...you are all united by a common goal, a purpose. There are rules to be followed of course but in return you are loved, and somebody always cares for you, somebody is always looking out for you. And at night, we tell stories."

He gave her a big toothy grin, flashing his large white canines teeth. "We are a tribe of storytellers; it is how we pass our lore down from one generation to the next. We can howl across vast distances and share our knowledge with other packs. We don't do much writing." He held up his large clawed hands. "Can't grip a quill very well with these."

They walked on, speaking quietly until they found another small clearing with some fresh water. Dahras bent over the water and began lapping it up from the stream when a small pinecone pegged him in the back. He looked up, his pointed ears pricking up alertly and turn to Torio. "Is that a human game?"

Torio turned, peering into the brush. "That wasn't me," she said sharply, narrowing her eyes. _As if she could see anything, anyway._ She stepped forward a few paces, examining the direction they had just come from. "Did you hear anybody following us?" She hefted her staff, trying to appear as if she knew what she was doing.

Dahras followed Torio into the treeline again, sniffing. He stepped up to a large pine and glanced up. Half way up the tall tree, a small figure was waving. "Hello! Oh I'm so glad you've noticed me! I'm...stuck. My jacket is caught in the branches. I've been stuck here for days it seems!"

The lupinal waved back, "Hang on a moment, friend!" He turned, almost apologetically to Torio. "I...can't climb trees." And held up his large, clumsy paws again. He gave her a sheepish grin, "So...about recompense?"

Relief washed through Torio as she realized they weren't immediately being attacked. She smirked slightly; _Remember where you are, girl._

She glanced up into the trees, and shook her head resignedly. "I doubt I'm much better than you. But...here, hold your paws flat, like thus." She demonstrated, and watched as the lupinal made a small, furry platform for her to step from. "Do you think you can hold my weight? I won't stand on you for long." She placed a hand on his shoulder, a foot on his hands, and pushed up, reaching for the lowest hanging branches. She walked her feet up the treetrunk, her arms straining from the exertion. Balancing on the thickest, lowest branch, she looked up, trying to see further up into the tree. _Damn it to hells._ She blew out an exasperated breath, and carefully began picking her way up through the tree, taking an agonizingly long time as she tested every branch before putting her weight on it, slowly making her way to the figure.

A pair of large dark eyes belonging to a tired but cheerful halfling greeted Torio as she ascended. "Brandobras Bywater at your...well...I suppose you would be at my service at the moment. But if I could be at your service I would be. But my current state of being stuck so high in the air prevents that of me." He took off his cap nevertheless and bowed as best he could to Torio. "I am so happy you two made it this way, I was worried that the squirrels were going to try to free me by chewing away my jacket and I happen to like this jacket very much."

Torio grunted as she pulled herself up level with the halfling. _Well...at least it's not a gnome._ By gods, but this was exhausting. She said, breathlessly, "Torio. Lean forward." She placed a hand lightly on the halfling's head, trying to bend it forward so she could examine his caught jacket.

The collar was twisted around a thick, broken off branch. She blinked incredulously. "How did you manage this...Brandobras, you said your name was? Hold still..." Her fingers fiddled with the fabric, one leg hooked around the tree trunk desperately, the muscles burning as she struggled to keep her balance. She winced, her fingers catching on the sharp edges of the branch, cursing as small droplets of blood announced the splinters embedding in her skin.

Finally, the jacket was released, and she leaned back, clutching wildly at the closest branch. "There!" She leaned back against the trunk, catching her breath. "Honestly, I can't understand how that was even possible...what were you doing up here?"

Brandobras clung onto the nearest branch, grinning at her. "I managed this quite accidentally actually. I was up higher when I slipped off a branch, and started falling. Let me tell you, having branches stop your fall isn't as painless as it looks!" He rubbed his backside comically. "Getting snagged was the only thing that stopped me from falling the entire way! And what was I doing up here? Why, getting a nice view of course! And listening to the eagles' song! And hoping to meet some avorals! But instead I've met you, Torio, well met and thank you to my savior."

He peered at her and then said frankly, "You don't look comfortable up here. Shall we head down? Oooh and tend to your wounds too! Can't have you walking around with splinters. Nasty things. If it wasn't for my extra-durable hide pants I'm certain I would have splinters on the famous Bywater bottom as well."

Torio looked down to where Dahras was waiting for them, and swallowed hard. "All right just...give me a moment." She inched her foot down towards the branch below them. "Just a...moment." She gripped the branch hard, and carefully began climbing down, her heartrate pounding.

_This is what happens when you help people, you get stuck up a tree somewhere on a distant plane and the last thing you'll ever hear will be a halfling describing the splinters up his backside.._

Her sweating palms slipped, and she gasped, falling backwards and grapping at thin, whippy branches as she fell.

Brandobras shot his hands out but missed hers. Without a second thought, he let go of his own branch and tumbled down after her. Below them Dahras was circling the tree anxiously; he leapt up the trunk as high as he could, his claws scrabbling into the bark as he tried to inch his way up. As Torio tumbled past him, he reached out and snatched her out of the air, stopping her descent, with one arm; then the halfling with the other - but then he wasn't hanging onto the tree any longer and fell himself. The three of them crashed spectacularly to the ground in a heap.

Torio groaned, Dahras cushioning most of her fall as they sprawled across the ground. Her face and arms were stinging from where the branches had whipped her on her way down, and the halfling looked as if he had gotten in a fight with a slightly furious cat.

She rolled off of the lupinal, wincing as her back protested. "Are you both unhurt? My apologies...I'm no climber." She sling her pack around in front of her, hoping to the gods her potions had survived the fall.

She found two healing potions towards the middle, wrapped carefully between two rolled maps that were looking slightly mushed. She pulled one out and removed the seal and cork, holding it out to the halfling. "Here...three days in a tree, you'll probably need this." She glanced down at Dahras. "And you?"

Dahras chuckled; and then it became a full laugh, echoing through the woods. "No no Torio; it takes more than a mere fall to injure the mighty Dahras. Use the potion on yourself." He sat up and brushed himself off.

Brandobras took the potion gratefully, "Oh! Thank you. Seems as though you are at my service again. Though what I could really go for is breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner and dessert. Pinecones, quite honestly, are atrociously bitter."

The lupinal sniffed the air, scanning the skies, "Well, halfling, might I suggest we eat on the road as we walk? I wish to return to my camp before nightfall. Torio, are you injured? I can carry you if you need it."

Torio drank the second potion and sighed as she felt the aches, bruises, scratches and minor injuries fade into the pleasant thrumming of bottled magic. "I'm fine, Dahras. I'll keep up." She pulled an unidentifiable..._at least to her_...fruit from her pack and tossed it to the halfling, her heart light despite the disaster that was their rescue attempt. _It really is beautiful here; it's almost a shame I can't stay, really._ But she knew she had to go, had to return to...

_...to..._

She felt a moment of sudden, panicked realization shoot through her contented consciousness before the word came to her. _Toril._ She was traveling back to Toril, for Sand; she knew that...it was the entire reason she was on this trip.

She walked along, ducking branches and holding them aside for the smaller halfling behind her, her good mood banished. Her stomach, growling moments before insistently, fell silent, heavy and cold and momentarily sustained by the dread that filled it.

The trio marched onward, through the dense woods. Brandobras and Dahras exchanged stories of their travels through Elysium, trading lore and bits of information.

"...Chaksa's been moving the pack further and further towards the borderlands..."

"...the Companions have been busy lately as well..."

Suddenly Dahras held up a paw, snuffling his nose forward before giving a series of short yips and barks. There was a responding series of calls and then the lupinal broke into a huge grin before running forward. "My pack!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Volume 3, Chapter 6 – Sand: Your Daughter's Dubious Embrace**

It was sunset when Nivarra re-entered the small laboratory, dressed elegantly and obviously dressed up for something. "Guard," she said evenly, "Take the wizard to clean himself for dinner." Her brown eyes eyed Sand critically. "You will change into what I leave for you; my guards will bring you down to the Dining Hall. Do _not_ keep me waiting...we have very important guests tonight that will be very interested meeting you, and I expect you to act as we have instructed."

Sand gave her a half-bow, murmuring softly, "Yes, of course Mistress..." She gave a slight lift of her chin, and the guard grabbed Sand's arm, pulling him out into the hallway.

Nivarra laid out a deep black robe, the embroidery along its edges a russet red and spelling multiple protective runes. Her heart was racing...tonight would be the night when they would discover whether this new wizard was a bargaining tool...or simply just a tool, to be discarded. She fingered the edge of the robe almost lovingly before standing, her skirts swishing as she left the room and disappeared down the hallway.

Once out in the hallway, Sand yanked his arm from the guard, hissing, "I can walk myself, you know." He entered the small bathing room again, quickly wiping himself down and straightening his hair. His hands were slightly stained from working with the red extract from the thyllisian flower but otherwise he thought he looked presentable enough. For a 'slave,' anyway.

Sand brushed past the guard and walked himself back to his room where he quickly changed into the robe. He nearly sighed as he felt the fine weave against his skin, the protective magic of the robe enveloping him like a cocoon; a nice contrast to the coarse fabric that 'Roslyn' had seemed to prefer...

_Ah but Sand, Roslyn was a free man; would you take all the finest clothes in Faerun if it meant you were a kept servant_...?

He straightened up and looked himself over in the mirror on the far wall before turning to the guards. "You know where to take me."

The guard led Sand down a virtual maze of corridors, leading to the very heart of the house. The passed many servants scurrying back and forth, preparing rooms, carrying dishes and trays to and from the kitchen, washing linens, dusting furniture, sweeping corridors; they all seemed subdued, tight, pained lines around their eyes. As they passed one group of such servants, a small, half-elven boy watched Sand walk by in an almost hypnotized fashion, his eyes almost eager...but then they turned a corner and the servants disappeared from view.

The guard led Sand through a pair of double doors and into a resplendent, high dome-ceiling hall, where a circular table was spread with a veritable feast. Finely clothed serving men and women flitted around the table, silent, their faces impassive as they refilled glasses and replaced emptied dishes. The dinner guests looked rather ominous; Deep red and black were prominent colors, and the men were both robed in luxurious mages trappings and swatched in ceremonial dress armor. There was only one other woman at the table, an older human, her red hair slashed with strands of grey. A crest was emblazoned on the front of her red gown, a rearing dragon with claws outstretched, gold against the scarlet fabric.

And one man, who sat silent amidst the hushed conversation, his skin shining a deeper, darker cinnamon color in the flattering light casting down from the candle-lit chandelier. His yellow, cat-like eyes trained on Sand as the guard escorted him towards an empty seat that was positioned at the left side of where Nivarra sat next to her father. The guard gestured towards the chair. "Sit."

The conversation hushed momentarily as the guests registered Sand's presence. Nivarra looked at him expectantly, her face cool, a strange gleam in her eyes. "You look presentable," she said quietly, and edge of admiration in her voice. "Please, sit down. Our guests have been eager to meet you."

Sand's heart was pounding in his chest. Who were these people? What did they want with him? Did they know of his 'arrangement' with Nivarra? He took a small steadying breath and then half-turned his face to the girl, giving her a neutral, considering look. "Thank you. Somebody has good tastes in robes..." He was going to try to be polite and play his part through the dinner, to do what he could to survive and maybe make his existence more pleasant. His thoughts flickered unwittingly to Torio and what she must have had to do to survive those years with Garius.

_If she could do it, he could too._

His hands felt cold and dry; he clasped them politely in front of him to keep them from shaking, saying with a lightness he did not feel, "Well met."

Nivarra could sense the sudden, electrical atmosphere in the room as the men and woman around the table took in Sand's appearance. The man to Sand's left, a stout, bearded, bald gentleman in elaborate armor and a rich brocade cape, eyed the wizard curiously. "So you're the Lady's new toy, are you now?" He twirled a finger along his moustache, his eyes narrowed calculatingly. "The Lord and his daughter tell us that you're quite a powerful spellcaster."

"He's certainly easy on the eyes; are you gaining a taste for pretty elves in your old age, Lord Dornan?" The red-haired woman's mouth twitched in amusement as her eyes gleamed across the table at Nivarra's father.

Dornan merely smiled, the persona of gracious host settling over him as thickly as a fine cape; and cloaking his true nature just as effectively. "Jealous, my lady? I acquired him for my daughter, not myself, Theona. You should question her, not I."

Some of the men laughed as Nivarra's thin mouth curled into a sly smile. "Aye, that's a decent way to test a servant's endurance, Lord Durnan; toss him into your daughter's dubious embrace."

"I hear this servant of yours has some interesting qualities that we should all be dying to know," said Theona curiously. "You were rather..._vague_, in your missives. Would you care to tell us why we should all be interested in this...elf?" Theona's large, amber eyes fixed on Sand, penetratingly sharp. "I can sense his power; it is remarkable, I'll give you that, but powerful mages aren't so hard to come by that the Red Dragon will drop and turn over for him."

Nivarra said, evenly, "Tell them, my wizard. Everything you told me."

Sand fought back the panic that was rising through him as they discussed him like...like a piece of ware, meat from a butcher, a thing that wasn't there or wasn't worthy of being spoken to - just spoken of.

_Stay calm Sand. Luskan likes power, not weakness..._

He picked up the glass of wine casually and then began speaking, "Everything... All right, shall I give you the condensed version of everything I've told my mistress here?" He could barely keep the bitter note out of his voice. "My name is Sand. I run...used to...run a shop down in the Docks district of Neverwinter. Making potions, enchanting trinkets." He thought of Duncan now running his shop and sighed. "I served as counsel to the Shard-Bearer who was accused by Torio Claven, then Ambassador of Luskan to Neverwinter of murdering the entire village of Ember; since then I have been a companion to said Shard-Bearer at Crossroad Keep while we prepare for war against the King of Shadows."

His blue eyes darted to Nivarra's face and he took a sip of the wine, stalling. "I am...was... also a spy for Nasher. I was here a week ago to try to acquire a magical map but failed; I was captured by your Harbor Master Drakken on the return voyage home...and...now I'm here." The geas was tugging in his chest, urging him on to reveal more about his relationship with Torio. Nivarra was staring at him expectantly, her eyes glittering with a malicious light. "I ...am also in a relationship with Torio Claven. She was with me when we tried getting the map but she's gone now; sent to another Plane."

Gone, but safe.

The table immediately buzzed in excited consternation. "He's lying!"

"No," said Dornan, a smile playing on his lips. "Some...friends of mine from the Brotherhood placed a geas on him. He will not lie to us...or to you, if we want him to tell the truth."

"But...Torio Claven! Do you realize the implications? She is working with Neverwinter's spies, she's _alive_..."

One man guffawed. "And she's taken a lover. Without devouring him afterwards."

"The Hosttower will want to know of her whereabouts." The redhead's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table.

Sand couldn't help himself. He said flatly, as they began discussing Torio, "She serves Neverwinter under penalty of death. A geas of sorts. It would seem your methods are similar."

"The mage said she was gone. Besides, it is not so important as you make it out to be, Theona," the bearded man next to Sand sounded thoughtful. "A spy for Nasher...even as a low ranking one he would be useful to us. He would know the details of the War against the Shadow in the south...he would know locations, secrets." The man looked at Sand pointedly. "Names."

"Tell us," said Theona, her amber eyes flashing eagerly as she leaned forward, her eyes trained on Sand. "Are there other spies in Luskan? What are there names?"

Nivarra interjected smoothly, "My wizard will be more than happy to disclose such information to you; I'm sure the Hosttower would look favorably on anyone bringing such things to their attention." Her look was pointed; Theona's expression practically screamed raw ambition. "But my father and I require certain...favors, if you will. Compensation. We paid a high price to bring such a powerful elf under heel, and he will remain under our control until we can come to a suitable...agreement." Underneath the table, Nivarra's fingers closed around Sand's knee, gripping it lightly through the fabric. "As will the information he carries."

A dinner bell was sounded, and the servants entered carrying steaming trays. "Dinner," said Dornan swiftly, diffusing the tense atmosphere somewhat. "Come, let us eat! We can discuss business matters once the meal is over."

Nivarra flashed Sand a quick, sly look, before sliding her hand from his leg and reaching for her wineglass, her fingers lingering against his robes momentarily.

Sand gazed steadily at Nivarra when she touched him, her fingers seeming to send icy spiderwebs up his leg. He was beginning to feel like a pinned specimen of butterfly, like those crazy lycanthropic gnomes had, pinned to a board to be examined, poked, prodded, dissected...

He took another sip of his wine and pushed the food around on his plate, forcing himself to eat. His mind was racing; would he be able to protect Lightfoot and the others? Would he be able to warn them that they were about to be exposed?

_Think, Sand, think. You have always prided yourself on being the smartest elf in Neverwinter. Time to use your spellbook for something other than creative lovemaking..._

He knew what he had to do. He just needed a few moments of privacy now to do it. He drained his glass of wine and continued eating, his ears alert to the conversations around him.

_"...trade agreement, I swear on my life they're the stingiest negotiators I've ever come across..."_

"_...Spies from Neverwinter? This all seems a bit far fetched, don't you think, the Hosttower's always executing some "spy" or another..."_

The bearded man next to Sand looked across the chairs to where Nivarra sat. "Your wizard seems to resent your company slightly, my lady."

Nivarra unperturbedly forked a piece of fish on her plate and slid it delicately into her mouth before answering. "He will get used to us...to me, in time, Biren." She arched a brow wryly at the bearded man. "And if he doesn't, Master Blackfeather is willing to take him off of our hands." She raised her glass and nodded across the table, to where the bronze-skinned man sat silently eating. His yellow eyes flicked between her face and Sand's before he bent back to his plate.

"Tell me, elf," asked the bearded man, Biren, amiably. "What was is like, being Torio Claven's...companion? I hear rumors all the time, the old girl would roll up her skirts at the merest mention of an opportunity to negotiate." The man on the other side of Biren choked on his drink, laughing. Nivarra's face looked cold as Biren continued thoughtfully. "Still, I suppose it doesn't speak much to the character of our leaders if it actually _worked_ on them." The man's face split into a sharp, sly grin. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Nivarra my dear?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," came the sharp reply.

"So whatever happened to Garius, elf? You supposedly traveled with that..Knight of Lord Nasher's, his Shard-Bearer, whatever you southerners call it." Biren gestured a serving man over to refill his glass. "Tell us, how did the great Black Garius die?"

Sand slid his eyes towards Nivarra again when Biren began speaking to him, but continued speaking despite the girl's frigid expression. She could stop him if she wished; he was nothing but a mere slave, was he? "Torio Claven was intelligent, well-spoken and passionate. Being with her involved many hours of conversation. Her tongue was sharper than a sword to anybody she deemed less than worthy." He couldn't help but smile at memories of her berating Aldanon or cutting into Nevalle. Sand pointedly ignored Biren's comment about Torio's negotiation tactic. "She was an...adequate companion."

That was the biggest understatement of Sand's life. She was (and now it seemed like, would be) his only true companion. He realized with a pang how much he missed her in all this, being completely unable to reach out with his mind and feel her reassuringly say to him... _Bodaes_...

He moved to safer territory with questions about Garius. "We interrupted a shadow ritual Garius was undergoing in order to harness the power of ancient Illefarn. We killed his priests and mages, the ritual collapsed and the energies killed him." He made it sound so simple; killing Garius the first time was, killing him as a Shadow Reaver was going to be decidedly more difficult...He waited for a serving girl to fill up his goblet and then drained it again.

_But he wasn't going to be there, for that, was he?_

Biren laughed. "Undone by his own ritual! Ha! Suitable, for a man as wily as he was. I prefer the sword, myself, and the musical ring of gold coins." The man leaned back, patting his stomach contentedly as the servants moved to clear his plate. "So it's true, then, that cold little woman knew how to warm things up." He nudged the man next to him, grinning, and shook his head. "Ah, the woman they have running as Ambassador now is a sore disappointment in that department."

The man to Biren's left piped up, chuckling, "Still not sure where the Brotherhood found that morsel. I've heard men run screaming when she offers her 'favors' at negotiation tables."

Biren laughed. "Still... a competent woman is a competent woman, and she can weave a spell around her finger tighter than twine."

Nivarra shook her head. "Natale is a fool; she may be powerful, but she's ambitious without an ounce of common sense. Mark my words, she won't last."

"And who's a better candidate, Nivarra? You perhaps?" The condescending tone in Biren's voice was bordering on blatantly rude, and for a moment, the conversation died as all eyes focused on the bearded merchant and the dark-haired hostess, both staring at each other with Sand sitting in the middle.

Dornan's voice eased into the tense atmosphere. "Now, we mustn't let our tempers get the better of us. Come, if all of you are finished eating, let us retire to the study; I have my servants preparing ouzo and some refreshments for you all." So saying, the dinner party stood, chairs scraping back against the stone floor as red and black garbed figures moved towards a far door being held open by a servant.

Nivarra stood, saying quietly but firmly, "Give me your arm." She slipped her arm through Sand's and walked adroitly towards the study, calm and serene by all outward appearances, her fingers clutching his robe possessively.

For some reason, Sand found himself beginning to like Biren; any man who disrespected Nivarra and her father stood out as potential ally in his books. They were led into a gorgeous study; Sand eyes flicked around the room, memorizing its contents, looking for something, anything...

When they all entered, Dornan poured a clear liquid into tiny, elongated, fluted glasses, the servants passing them out to the gathered guests. "A toast, to our mutual good fortune," he said, raising his glass. Nivarra nudged Sand to do the same. The guests all repeated "Good fortune!" and drank down the thick, licorice flavored, potent liqueur with gusto.

"Now," said Theona, her eyes glittering. "Let's talk price."

The words began flying fast and thick; offers made, turned down, altered, made again. Dornan was asking for much; apparently he had a reputation for wild scheming and failed attempts to rise in the Hosttower's favor, and he seemed adamant to succeed this time.

Nivarra muttered to Sand, almost purring, "You did well at dinner."

He swallowed and turned his mouth to her ear, keeping his eyes on the bargaining before him. "Thank you, mistress. Could a lowly slave be excused to use the washroom a moment? I seem to have drunk too much wine at dinner..." His heart was pounding; he just needed two minutes alone to get his spells off...

Nivarra waved her hand dismissively. "Yes yes, go. Don't be too long, or I'll send the guards in after you." She was listening sharply to one of the offers being made by Theona, her eyes slitted thoughtfully.

Sand stood, extracting himself from her iron like grip on his arm and quickly made his way to one of the small side doors. Shutting the door tightly, he ran over to the small shuttered window and peaked out. He was a good three stories up but he wasn't planning on jumping and running away. His geas, he knew, would not allow it. Quickly he began the incantation for _Whispering Winds_, his fingers moving quickly, imagining the small safehouse where him and Torio had spent days... The spell activated and he hissed quickly out the open window, "It's Tanith. I've been recaptured, a geas on me, they'll be questioning me, get everybody out of Luskan! Nagendra's safe."

He closed the window and exhaled. He hoped the spell would carry his words to Lightfoot and the others. He hadn't risked giving out more information in case the message was intercepted; but he had done all he could. He opened the door back to the main study and sidled up alongside Nivarra, keeping his face passive.

Nivarra glanced absently at Sand as he reappeared, her face focused intensely on the conversation. Theona was talking animatedly, her hands gesturing as she painted a picture with her words. "You know I can do it, Dornan," she said eagerly. "Just imagine, a place within our Company...full control over your own contingent, a say in our trade practices; enough power to match any of the Brotherhood."

Biren snorted. "She can rub coins together, Dornan, but can she deliver? I command the mercenaries, the muscle, the steel; how long will your so-called 'control' last if you can't back your words up with brawn and mettle?" The bearded man walked forward. "I can offer you strength, plain and simple; power is gained easily and lost just as easily, but keeping it, well." He laughed humorlessly. "That requires more than mere words. Doesn't it, Theona?"

The redhead snorted derisively. "You can bargain with this..._brute,_ Dornan, or you can place your trust in someone who _can_ hold on to power, without the need for brutish, barbaric tactics."

A sibilant, silky voice spoke up from the back of the room, and a few figures inched away from a cloaked man, his smooth, hairless face impassive and almost adolescent in its youthfulness. "You know where the true power lies, Dornan," said the man, his dark eyes fixed on Nivarra's father. "Waste time bargaining with these pawns, or accept my offer; no one has a stronger footing with the Hosttower than myself."

Dornan's eyes fell on Sand, and on his daughter standing slightly in front of him. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a moment...

"Biren," he finally said, "You have been an ally of mine for years, and steadfast. A rare thing in these times." Theona seemed to flinch slightly. "I accept your offer. Come tomorrow, and we will have the wizard prepared for you for questioning."

The other two competitors wore stony expressions, but hands were shaken all around and a smattering of disgruntled congratulations were offered to the bearded mercenary, whose eyes were gleaming. "I promise you won't regret this, Lord Dornan."

"I hope I shan't. Come, come! We still have drinks to get through; a toast, to Lord Biren, and the Red Dragon Merchant Company!"

Glasses were refilled, and raised; the conversation soon began to trickle off as the members of the Company began filing out for the evening, to respective guest rooms or to the main doors of the Estate. Biren stood in front of Nivarra and Sand momentarily. "Keep a tight noose on him, girl," he said quietly, his voice suddenly sharpened with a dangerous edge. "I would hate to return in the morning and found you and your father are unable to fulfill your end of the deal."

Nivarra's face tightened as the man left. "Return to my chambers, slave," she said to Sand sharply. "I will be there shortly."

There was a strange deadening feeling sinking over him; last time he felt it was after very similar negotiations - when he had basically sold Torio to Asrar. Sand turned and began following the guards back to Nivarra's room, his lips curling disdainfully. Yes, he supposed the gods were punishing him now for that. He shook his head lightly, shaking the weighted numbness on him. He had to stay alert; he would play their games until he could find a way out.

Or until it became so unbearable that he would kill Nivarra.

That option had always sat, burning, in the back of his mind. He had no idea what kind of rules and stipulation had been placed on his geas - he had been too hazy at the time of casting to interpret the words and gestures. But he didn't doubt the Brotherhood would put in a bit of a safety ward for the girl: kill her and you die too. But killing her would also free him from her geas and he would take his chances in the after life. Death by Shadow Reaver, death by Torio Claven, what would it matter that it would be death by his own hand now?

He wasn't at that point. Yet. But he had no illusions about Luskan and their treatment of servants and slaves. "That point" could be a lot sooner than later.

The guard opened the door to her chambers and Sand swept in, moving into "his" room and sitting at the small desk, waiting to hear her heels on the flagstone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Volume 3 Chapter 7 – Torio: Alpha**

Dahras led them to a large clearing where bedrolls, cooking fires and greenish-brown tents were set up in a semi-circle. Large wolf-like people were organizing the camp with a brisk efficiency, every member of the pack doing the task assigned to them without complaint. Young pups were running around, chasing each other and wrestling in the dirt and generally getting underfoot of the adults, before being gently chastised and sent off to a less trafficked area.

But as Torio and the others approached, the entire camp paused almost simultaneously. Yellow, blue, orange, purple, gray eyes all turned and focused on the human woman. A silence fell over the camp.

A low, regal voice from the back of the camp spoke up, "Dahras. Bring her to my tent." Chaksa, alpha female, stepped through the crowds, giving Torio a scrutinizing look, before disappearing inside the largest tent.

Torio could feel the multi-hued, intelligent gazes follow her as she walked behind Dahras towards the large tent into which the female lupinal disappeared. There was a tangible intensity to the air; every gaze seemed to weigh her, consider her, as if she were standing on an auction block. There was nothing overtly threatening about the atmosphere, but Torio knew...if they had the inclination to, they could tear her to pieces in a heartbeat.

Dahras ducked under the tent flap and held it open for her as she followed, the dimness of the tent leaving her momentarily blind as her eyes adjusted from the brightness outside.

Chaksa sat on a large cushion on the ground, before a low table. Small candles were scattered throughout the tent, giving the space a warm, cozy feel. The low table was stacked high with parchments: maps, and spies reports.

"Dahras, welcome back. I see you have...stalked your pray rather successfully. Go, find your brothers, rest and eat. Make sure the halfling feels welcomed. I will speak to the human alone. I promise I will not harm her as she is under your protection now."

Dahras gave a low bow and left, not before squeezing Torio's arm reassuringly.

The alpha female picked up some parchment, reading them over carefully, practically ignoring Torio for a few minutes. Her gray and white fur shone in the candlelight, her large yellow eyes bright with a wisdom earned through experience. Finally she put the parchment down and looked at Torio, tapping her clawed finger on the table rhythmically.

"You have obviously done something to earn my son's trust. He is normally quite shy and suspicious of all outsiders and one of your personality normally would have gotten nothing from him other than an escort to the Outlands. I am Chaksa, leader of this pack. We serve Duke Lucan, lupinal Companion to wise Prince Talisid. Tell me your tale and we will proceed from there.

There was a deep, fathomless light in the lupinal's eyes as Torio began speaking. Whether it was from fear, or merely because her thoughts seemed to slide from her more readily on this plane...or simply because Torio's deeply pained heart needed to hear it all again to remember, it, she didn't know. But Torio told her everything; from hers and Sand's budding, confusing relationship to the mission Nasher sent them on, all through Luskan and onto the ship, where Sand had saved her life and banished her from his side; it all came out, tumbling, halting. It was probably more than the lupinal leader needed to know; it was definitely more than Torio had expected to ever tell anyone. Maybe she wanted someone, anyone, to know why she was struggling to find a way back, what it had cost her to love an elf that was essentially her captor and her enemy. And what it had cost him, what it was probably still costing him, and why she needed to return.

She felt drained when she finished, her eyes on the ground in front of her. She felt heartsick and weary, as if she had just lived it all again. "All I want is to go back," she said hoarsely, her throat dry from speaking. "I'm not trying to cause unrest, I'm not looking to hurt anyone here. I just need to get back to him."

Her mind flitted uneasily to the moment in the woods when the name Toril had slipped her mind...just for a second. _Before I forget him completely._ "I am seeking the Prince...or one of his Companions, in order to do just this. I have absolutely nothing to offer you as repayment if you help me." She let out a long sigh. "Although I will do whatever I can for you, if you ask it of me."

Chaksa sighed and then poured Torio a tall thin glass of a sweet, purplish nectar. "Forgive my - our - suspicions, but you have come at a very bad time." The lupinal tossed her a small stack of parchment. "Reports from the spies. There is a growing concern that the Archdukes of Baator are planning on making a move against us. They have been taunting us for months, opening portals and snatching petitioners from our plane and holding them captive. We believe they hope we will send an army down to the Nine Hells to retrieve our citizens, leaving us open for an attack here."

She placed a gentle hand on Torio's shoulder. "I am sorry but I do not believe the Prince or his Companions will risk opening a portal for you home, especially if, for all your know, Sand may already be dead. We cannot risk it, while the Archdukes are so openly plotting against us. We must protect our petitioners." She inhaled, and then exhaled deeply, her fur settling on her body, as if what she had told Torio pained her greatly. "You are welcome to travel with us. It is probably the safest route for you. We will protect you and feed you. But know that we expect to move against the devilish armies soon, either when they attack this plane or down in the Hells themselves. You will not be expected to join us, of course, for you are not of this plane. When that time comes, we can leave you at the nearest village."

The lupinal made her way to the entrance of the tent. "You may sleep in my tent while you remain with us. Feel free to use anything and make yourself at home."

Torio felt as if she had been gutted. She swallowed hard, her insides sinking until she felt she would crumble where she stood, a small pinpoint of anger and frustration at her inability to do anything simmering through her. The glass of nectar rested limply between her fingers. "I appreciate the hospitality. I...would still request that we ask the Duke...or the Prince, if it comes to it...about opening a portal." Her mind raced, trying to sweeten her words with her age-old diplomacy. "I realize the implications of this attack will have on your security, but I have to ask them." She stared at the lupinal helplessly. "I have to. I will do anything you want me to, just allow me at least the _chance_ to request it of them." The idea that she was undone before she even reached her goal drove her near mad; she hadn't even considered that the creatures of this plane would turn her request down.

Chaksa fingered the flap of the tentdoor, staring off into the distance. "I cannot deny you that request. And I do not ask for anything in return. You are a guest here, not a servant. I do apologize if Dahras made it appear as though I would be able to return you to your home. We will see the Duke in a day." She left the tent, letting the flap fall shut.

Torio slid the pack and cloak off of her shoulders wearily, feeling numb. She drank the strange, purple liquid, a sweet, rich taste rolling over her tongue and down her throat. There was some noise on the other side of the tent, some hushed urgent whispering and then Dahras voice called out softly, "Torio? Would you like to come join us around the fire?"

Setting down the glass, she pushed the tent flap open; Dahras and a handful of gleaming eyes all looked at her.

_...have you never lived with a family before?_ The time when she used to shut herself in to her room at the keep during celebrations seemed so long ago. _And even then, someone still came seeking you out._

She nodded, and stepped out of the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind her.

Dahras knelt in front of her and pulled her into a hug. "We'll find a way to get you home once we have dealt with the devils." The lupinals around them murmured their agreement, their voices low and growling in unison. Dahras slowly released her from his hold. "We're just about to have a bonfire. Brandobras has stories of his travels he is willing to share with us. Would you share stories about Toril? Especially - " Dahras lowered his voice. "- of the evils that live there? We like scary stories before bed."

He took her hand affectionately and led her to the large, blazing fire in the middle of the clearing. Blankets, and makeshift benches had already been arranged around the bonfire. The lupinals gathered were mostly from the younger generation; there was an excited, nervous energy in the air as they discussed the upcoming battle. It also seemed as though word of Torio's plight had spread through the encampment as well. Many large furry hands gave her sympathetic pats and squeezes as she made their way through.

Brandobras was already sitting on a blanket, roasting a strange yellow gooey fruit on a stick over the fire. He shifted over and cleared a spot for Torio. "My savior! Here! Try this - it'll heal what ails ya." He held the stick out towards her.

Torio took the fruit dubiously, remembering the multitudes of times that Grobnar had tried to cook in the kitchen and offer the results to anyone that came within a twenty foot radius of him. Hopefully halflings were better chefs. "I could fill your ears with stories of the evils of Toril." _A subject I am most knowledgeable in._ She felt surrounded, enveloped, by the large, furry figures as they settled around the fire; it wasn't as unpleasant a feeling as she had thought it would be. "What would you like to hear about? A terrible monster? A zealous dark cult?" She took a bite from the yellow fruit; it was incredibly sticky, the outside of it singed slightly from the fire and giving the outside a slight crunch. "An evil wizard?"

A small female lupinal from the back called out, "No more on terrible monsters! Kajin only tells stories about monsters!" A few snickers went through the group and a lupinal with reddish fur gave a crossed his arms in mock anger, "What? I like monsters! Besides, it's not my fault if you're the one that can't sleep after my stories!"

Brandobras speared another fruit and stuck it back in the fire. "Tell us about the evil wizard tonight and we'll hear about the dark cult tomorrow night!" The other lupinals nodded and huddled in close, eerie shadows jumping around their elongated snouts as they stared at Torio with bright, anticipating eyes. A flask of a bubbly drink was being passed around the circle and a calm silence fell on the group as they waited for her to begin.

Torio polished off the fruit, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought of a story almost immediately.

"There was a wizard on my world, once...crafty, sly, and very powerful. He wasn't satisfied, though, with the power he had." She smirked slightly, huddling closer to the fire. "Most wizards aren't, on my world. He began planning, making alliances; he was driven and bright with ambition and many of those who were in a position to help him did so. Drawn like a moth to a flame."

"This wizard traveled to a great city, hoping to gain the favor of a tower of mages that lived there...he placed himself as their equals, and began a plan to steal the power of an ancient creature that lived on another plane..." Torio dropped her voice dramatically, "...the plane of Shadow. He incited the wrath of many cities, started a war between ancient enemies in his search for the tome he needed to steal this creatures power; he scourged the countryside with his destructive spells, and slid through the political intrigues of a royal court, killing…killing many innocents." She almost felt as if it were someone else she was speaking of. "Through it all, he became colder and more powerful, wreaking havoc and death wherever he went. No one was safe from his power."

Her voice was very low, her eyes focused on the fire. "A handful of warriors finally met him at the Keep he had claimed for his own, determined to put an end to his evil. He was at the peak of his power, throwing shadows and demons and spirits at the heroes, nearly destroying all of them; but at the last minute, he became distracted. The battle took his attention, and the ritual he was casting failed." The twig held in her hands snapped as she gripped it between them. "He was killed, him and the mages under his command, undone by his own ambition. The ritual was too powerful for him to control, and the creature he sought to wrest power from..._took_ him." Her eyes glittered. "He became a dark, evil shadow of himself, forever serving, caught between life and death and never knowing rest."

She dropped the two pieces of the branch, feeling slightly sick. "And he is still on our world, even now...watching, and preparing, for the day he can once again sweep across the land, bringing about the Shadow creature that's enslaved him."

Torio fell silent, the firelight dancing across the muzzled faces surrounding her.

An unsettling silence fell over the entire group as Torio finished her tale. The wind picked up, whistling and howling through the trees and the group of lupinals huddled closer together as they could almost see the shadows and spirits emerging from the woodwork, coming for them. Menacing red eyes seemed to appear, encircling the pack. A dark heaviness seemed to sink over the entire camp until suddenly one the younger lupinals yelled out, "BOO!"

Brandobras and the entire group jumped up. Somebody squealed and the group broke into peals of nervous laughter. A voice called out, "Let's go to Toril and take on this evil!" A chorus cry went up, "Hear hear! We'll follow Torio and take on the evil!"

Chaksa's sharp voice cut through the noise. "You will do no such things without permission from your elders." Everybody looked up where the alpha female was leaning against a tree, at the edge of the circle. "One battle at a time, pups." She joined the circle, taking a seat across the fire from Torio and Brandobras. "Heed her words, young ones. Serving evil, trying to control evil only serves to send your very souls into the Hells and eternal unrest. Good will always be working to thwart evil. Evil never knows peace. It is not worth it; the gods rewards those who do good, in this life or the next." She accepted the flask of bubby drink, taking a dainty sip before passing it on. "You sound like you know these warriors. Were you a part of the battle that defeated the evil mage? Was Sand a part of this group?"

Torio chuckled wryly. "I was not a part of the group that defeated him; I am no warrior. But I know them; the Keep that belonged to the evil wizard now belongs to them, and I...I stay there with them, helping them prepare for the battle." It was true at least; she had never looked at her life at Crossroad Keep as anything more than a prison sentence, but now...she realized despite the blazing rows with Sir Nevalle, the poorly veiled sarcasm and none-too subtle comments on Meaghan's disastrous taste in men and Cairan's effeminate taste in room decor, and the ever present annoyance that surrounded everything that was Grobnar's existence, she always included slightly more information than was necessarily required of her in every report. She had made more contacts and established just a few more lines of information than Nasher had asked of her.

_You slept with the resident wizard, too, nobody asked you to do that._

She smiled wryly, glancing at Chaksa. "Sand was a part of this group, yes. He's very powerful; not quite as powerful as the evil mage, but maybe together all of them can...well, maybe."

Chaksa nodded, her yellow eyes kind. "There is always hope. They sound like they have allies; and if they defeated him once, they can do it again. Victory is not always determined by the most powerful." She watched the human a moment, before saying, "You have experience in preparing for battle? Would you help us then, until the situation becomes too dangerous for you?"

The eyes of every lupinal around the fire turned and looked at Torio, gleaming hopefully.

Torio looked around her for a moment, caught in the gazes of nearly a dozen lupinals; they radiated a miasma of hopeful trust, all of it fixed on her.

_Oh gods._

She swallowed hard. Was this what Sand felt like? _Right before he hid behind the paladin..._

"I don't know how much the knowledge I have might help you," she said carefully. "I've never been experienced to war between planes. But it…my help...is yours." She rubbed the back of her neck, inwardly cringing at how her voice sounded. "It's the least I can do for you." She smiled wryly. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to the only audience I've had who actually calls for stories about villains instead of heroes."

A loud cheer went up and then the lupinals all took up the howl. Even Brandobras joined in, his small voice making thin "Oooh ooooh" noises. Chaksa stood, saying over the din, "Welcome to my pack, Torio Claven! You are now considered one with the lupinals. We will stand by your side so long as you stand by ours. Your fight shall become ours and ours shall become yours!"

When the raucous noise had died down, Chaksa clasped her hands behind her back. "All right, pups. Those not on night duty, to bed." A few muffled protests went up but the young lupinals quickly scattered, returning to their respective tents or bedrolls. "Torio, would you walk with me a moment?"

Torio stared in amazement as the lupinals erupted raucously around her. She stood to her feet and made her way towards Chaksa, sliding her hands into her pockets as she moved away from the warmth of the fire. She was nearly sent sprawling from the large, furred paws patting her back as the lupinals moved past her towards their respective tents, even feeling a paw slide across the top of her head and ruffle her short hair. When she finally stood before the pack leader, she felt an incredible bubble of laughter spilling through her chest, glancing over her shoulder at the retreating forms.

"I've never seen such exuberance," she said almost in awe. "It's attributed towards some of the barbarian tribes on my world, such willingness to do battle." She looked back towards Chaksa, her voice thoughtful. "But never such a willingness to fight evil; they seem so fearless."

Chaksa led Torio away from the encampment, speaking softly, "Yes. It is in our nature to abhor evil and to desire to fight it until our last dying breath. Their...exuberance, as you call it, can likely also be attributed to their youth. Many of them have not tasted their first battle, they have not felt the sting of loss. Including Dahras. That will change far too soon, I fear."

The alpha female left the wooded area and began climbing a rolling green hill. White stars were twinkling overhead, their pattern and course following the River Oceanus and all her tributaries. She fell silent when she reached the top, her hands hooked on her belt as she stared around her. The night was calm; even the sounds of the camp had faded away. Large fireflies were emerging slowly and nightbirds could be heard calling out to one another.

Chaksa turned to Torio, saying, "What I need you to do is very simple. Read the spy reports, examine our maps. See if you can't determine if we can risk going to Baator to retrieve our kidnapped petitioners, or if you believe they will attack us here. I will ask that you be present for the strategic meeting with Duke Lucan and the others when the time comes." She gazed up at the multitude of stars, the billion of twinkling lights. "You understand evil, you have experienced it. Do not deny it; it still clings to you like a foul scent but the pack seems to have taken to you in spite of it. I know there was more to your story of the evil mage than you told the others." She paused, and said in an almost pleading voice, "We need you to use your experience to help us now. They are so young and inexperienced."

Torio stared at the sky as Chaksa talked. It was always the same, wasn't it? It all came nipping and snarling and chasing on your heels. _Even in the Blessed Fields of Elysium..._

She had taken part in it once, choosing to be alive, to separate herself from that tiny part of her that loathed herself for what she was doing. She had even been proud of herself.

Now, listening to Chaksa's voice, she tried to imagine the lively, glowing faces of the lupinals below them in the camp blank and staring in death, their fur clotted with blood and bodies broken from battle. _Young and inexperienced._ She was too, once. Multitudes of hard lessons took care of that forever. She thought it had made her strong; but there was strength in the vibrant pack that had surrounded her tonight. They had drawn on each other, bolstered one another up until they had seemed, even to her, to be unstoppable.

"I'll help you to the best of my ability," she said, her voice rough. "Anything I know will be yours." Her eyes fell from the sky to Chaksa's face; she felt strangely solemn...and strangely sad. "I swear it to you."

Chaksa nodded, exhaling. Her eyes held a shining, luminous glow and she bowed deeply to Torio, "You have a mother's thanks." The two women stood a while longer, looking out over the serene night landscape. Only the most intuitive would be able to feel the anxious building energy over the Planes; below them, the lupinals slept or ate quietly, contentedly.

Finally Chaksa turned and slowly began the descent. "You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep. If there is anything you need, just ask." She guided Torio through the camp, back to her large tent. They stepped over Brandobras and Dahras, who were both sleeping outside, the halfling using the much larger lupinal as a pillow. "All the reports are in there but I am certain Duke Lucan will have more recent reports for you tomorrow. We will be moving at dawn. Somebody will wake you."

Torio nodded. "Thank you." She shot a bemused glance at Dahras and Brandobras, before shaking her head and slipping into the tent. She moved her pack and cloak next to a pile of furs..._ironic that_...that seemed to provide some crude bed.

She stretched out, burrowing down into the thick softness below her, and shut her eyes, her mind tumbling over the raw disappointment and strange satisfaction the night had filled her with. Disappointment when she realized getting home was going to be harder than she thought.

And satisfaction...she smiled as she listened to the sonorous, intermittent snoring that softly filled the camp outside, and shut her eyes, drifting off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Volume 3, Chapter 8 – Sand: Coup de Grace**

Nivarra walked through the hallways, her thought roiling in her head; on the one hand, they had a foothold; the evening was, technically a success.

Unfortunately, their foothold now was Biren.

She needed a route to the top, and needed it fast. Sand was a starting point, a stepping stone, a way of getting past those politely (or not so politely) closed doors that had been closed to her family for years...but with Biren holding the strings...

_Damn it and hells._

She pushed open the door to her chambers, her entire body tense and quivering with adrenaline and frustration. She pushed open the curtains separating her foyer from the bedroom proper, kicking her heeled slippers off of her feet. The evening gown was peeled off with the help of one of her maidservants, who appeared as if by magic from the darkened corner of the room, and a night dressing gown slipped over her narrow, boney shoulders. She had to think of something...she had to control the situation...

"Slave!" she called.

Sand heard her barge into the room, heard the noises of her undressing and clomping about the room like a drunken troll. She was angry; things would not be going well for him...

She was calling to him and he sighed, standing up and sticking his head out of the laboratory, keeping his eyes to the floor. He could see, out of the corner of his slanted eyes that she was standing in nothing more than a nightgown. "Yes, mistress?"

She sat in a large, cushioned chair, flicking a hand at her maidservant; the woman began braiding her long hair for the night while Nivarra eyed Sand speculatively. "I am unable to sleep," she said evenly, her dark eyes slitted slightly. "Get us a bottle of wine; I need to speak with you about our tactics for tomorrow morning." She crossed her legs slowly, leaning back into her chair, her eyes hooded. "And by all means, make yourself comfortable."

Sand nodded and walked over to the small cabinet, rummaging through the bottles until he found an expensive red wine from Silvery Moon. He picked up two crystal wine goblets and sat across from her. He uncorked the bottle expertly and then poured both of them a glass. He handed it to her, keeping his blue eyes trained on her face. "I wouldn't want my mistress to be deprived of sleep," he said silkily. He sank back into the cushioned chair, swirling the wine as he continued watching her. "What do you wish of me tomorrow? Tell me about Biren?"

He could almost pretend a moment that he was speaking to Torio again, before they were lovers, with the cautious, probing edge.

Nivarra took the proffered wine glass, her eyebrow quirking at him interestedly. He seemed to have warmed up considerably since earlier that morning. "My father has...strange ideas about what constitutes a good business deal." Rather, he had very little concern about _her_ political career, and more for his own. "Biren's assistance might be beneficial to my father, but the man has a strong dislike for me; and in the end, you do belong to me, don't you, my little plaything?" She took a drink of her glass, flicking her head away from the maidservant's searching fingers. "That's enough. Leave us." The woman bowed slightly and retreated from the room almost soundlessly.'

Nivarra watched Sand for a long moment. "My father trusts my loyalty; he thinks I would do anything for him, for his career, for his position; he thinks thus because I have made him think so." She leaned forward, the shoulder of her nightgown slipping purposefully down her arm slightly. "And your geas is ultimately answerable to me. We are going to tell Biren enough..." She tapped a finger against the side of her glass, frowning thoughtfully. "Enough for him to report to the Hosttower...enough for him to give my father the power he wants." Her eyes gleamed, not seeing much of anything as she spoke, staring at Sand. "When my father gains his position...I will remove him. It will fall to me by default, and that will gain _me_ the Hosttower's ear without the help of that...mercenary." She smiled at Sand, her lips twisting ruthlessly. "And then we..._you_...will tell them everything."

She sat back, swirling the wine in her glass. "My feet ache, slave." She wiggled her bare toes at him commandingly, taking another drink of wine. "You will tell Biren the names of any spies he asks you for in the city; but as for the map and your involvement in it, you will tell him you don't know anything." She smiled at him slightly. "The geas should be enough to keep you from sharing such information; that bit of knowledge is going to be my key to gaining position." She stretched her feet out towards him expectantly.

Sand sipped his wine, listening to her plotting with great interest. She spoke with a conniving manipulativeness that Sand had only encountered in the Drow. She seemed intelligent, she seemed forward thinking but her temper made her vulnerable. It could be her undoing...He studied her, as she planned aloud, his hands stroking the goblet lightly. Her face was flushed pink from the wine or the excitement of her plans, her wide mouth speaking crisply and sharply. Her jawline was wider than Torio's, her upturned nose didn't have that peculiar youthful adorableness that Torio's had...

He had to stop comparing her to Torio.

And now she was asking for a foot massage.

Like Torio.

"Of course, mistress." He wondered, derisively, why women continue to wear shoes that hurt their feet and if every woman he met from now until he was dead would want a foot massage. Sand put his wine glass down on the table and knelt at her feet, his pride protesting but the geas driving him on. He cradled her feet in his lap and began rubbing them mechanically. If he kept his eyes down, he could almost pretend her feet and legs belonged to Torio... "And tomorrow I shall do as you commanded. Might I be so bold as to add that your plan is a clever one. Once you are well established within the Hosttower, where does that leave me?"

Nivarra sighed, settling down into her chair. "That depends utterly on you, little wizard. If you cooperate, if you obey...think of it. A place at my side; power, luxury, wealth, anything you could ask for." She watched his hands move over her feet, his face downcast. "Doesn't that sound nice, little slave? I assure you, the alternative is much less pleasant." She swallowed her glass, smirking at him over the rim. She was no fool to think the elf's sudden placid change in demeanor was a natural phenomenon. "Play your hand right, Sand," she said sibilantly, purposefully using his name; she slid the side of her foot against his body as his hands manipulated its twin. "This entire affair could be extremely difficult; or extremely pleasant."

Sand glanced up at her when she used his name, resting his hands lightly on her foot a moment. "I think I would prefer the more pleasant alternative. Power, luxury, wealth - anything I could ask for - I would have to be a fool to turn that down."

Except he already had, once, when Gweynn had offered it to him. Turned it down and had been content to do so. He sighed inwardly and continued rubbing her foot. He could feel her other foot moving against his body and it was all he could do to not wriggle away. "Would my mistress like more wine?"

"Yes," she said pointedly. "You would a fool, and we know you're not, now, don't we?" She wordlessly handed him her glass, waiting for him to refill it. "Oh come now, you're lucky, you know; my father was ready and willing to let Master Blackfeather drag you away tonight if our plan didn't work out. Thankfully you made quite the impression." Nivarra let her head fall back lazily against the chair. "On me as well, little slave. "

Sand poured the wine in carefully and then handed her the glass. He polished off his own goblet as well, savoring the dry vintage. Funny it took slavery in Luskan for him to finally get a hold of some wine from Silvery Moon. "Yes, well, I do have a knack for making memorable first impressions, it seems," he responded dryly. He found if he just ignored the presence of the geas, he could almost just treat her like any other ambitious noblewoman...

She sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees, leaning close towards Sand's face, her eyes half-closed and glittering. "Tell me something, elf," she said smoothly. "You told me before about your Ambassador...what she did to excite you. I want to know what you did to excite her." She reached out, curling a strand of Sand's hair around her finger. "What would an elven wizard have to offer a human woman?"

Sand stiffened slightly when he felt her hot breath on his cheeks and her hands in his hair. With Torio, it had been blissful - with Nivarra, there were uncomfortable chills crawling up his back. He blinked and kept his eyes steady on a point just over her left shoulder. "I...With the Ambassador, I think her options at the Keep were rather...limited. We were enemies, I think a natural curiosity flows from that. We...teased each other mercilessly. She seemed to enjoy the challenge of besting me."

Nivarra seemed to thrive off of his discomfort. She set the wine glass down on the floor, sliding forward off the chair and onto her knees in front of him. "And did she best you, little slave?" Her hands slid up around his face, her own cheeks flushed with the wine and her own little power play; she pinched his ears with her fingers, rubbing them firmly, her eyes cold as her face inched close to his. "Did she curl you around her finger? Did she use her little mind tricks and word plays to steal your soft little heart?" Her fingers traced up and down along his ears, her eyes trained on his face. "No geas needed for the Ambassador of Luskan; tell me, are you nothing more than just a tool to be used by others? I think not...I think you are a pawn, a slave, an expendable piece of the puzzle."

Her fingernails dug into the tips of his ears. "Look at you. A powerful wizard, and yet you can do nothing against me. I can do whatever I want, and you won't stop me, will you, my pet? I could even order you to _like _what I do to you. What do you say to that, slave? Should I tell you what I want you to do?

Sand gasped as she worked his ears, his fingers digging into the wooden table. He found his eyes rolling back, a soft moan escaping from his lips even as she taunted him. Torio's words had always been poignant, sharp and on the mark; Nivarra's were simply cruel and empty.

_Stop comparing them, Sand._

The pleasure was rolling down his back and he struggled to speak. "She bested me and won me fairly. But she was mine as well; the arrangement was mutual." He was whimpering now, his head nudging closer into her hands, his mind recoiling in horror. "I...I don't think the geas will allow you to control my mind; you can't force me to like anything. _Oh gods_..." A deep feeling of shame was curling around his heart, around the geas. He felt like he was betraying Torio, even though she was gone (but safe) and he could never hope to see her again. "I know you'll tell me what you want me to do, why should I bother confirming it?"

Nivarra laughed. "Oh, but you _do _like what I'm doing, don't you, slave? I don't have to force you." She bent her head forward, experimentally kissing his neck. "Come now, my wizard, this can be pleasant if you choose; isn't that what you so ardently swore you wanted only a few moments ago?" She suckled gently at his skin, laughing lightly. "I'm curious as to what our Ambassador saw in you, slave. Your fingers are quite agile with dainty feet; did she put those fingers of yours to other uses?"

She reveled in the power she had over this creature; elves were looked down upon in Luskan, but underneath it simmered deep-rooted awe that no human could ever shake for the elegant, nearly-immortal beings that seemed to best every human accomplishment with a coup de grace. Her voice was lightly mocking. "Do you want me to stop, slave? Shall I banish you to your bed?" Her mouth moved up to his ear, her lips closing around its edge. "Shall I banish you to _mine_?"

There was a moment of weakness as her mouth closed over his ear. His arms automatically went up, embracing her thin, narrow body, holding her mouth to the side of his head. Her hair was thin but soft, her cheeks warm. He whimpered appreciatively, relaxing...But then he inhaled and instead of books and candles got a peculiar mix of a powdery perfume humming over the sharpness of mint.

He jerked her back violently and stared into her hazel eyes, regaining some control and holding her at arms length for a moment. His mind worked furiously, the thoughts tumbling over each other. Torio was gone; he was trapped in Luskan, likely forever unless he figured out a way to break the geas, as he couldn't see Nasher sparing troops or spies to save him; and his life now hung in the balance according to this psychotic, power-hungry woman before him.

Sweet Mystra, was he ever _alone_. Nobody even knew where he was.

But he didn't have to be alone. He studied her face as she stared right back at him. She wasn't entirely unpleasant to look at. If he was going to be held captive, he might as well make it as pleasant as possible...

Sand was getting exhausted; exhausted of the running, hiding, political hide-and-go-seek, tired of the pain, the abuse, the torture, of being used. He was tired of being away from Torio, of longing for her and worrying for her; tired of hiding their relationship, tired of pretending. He felt chafed raw, abandoned. She was gone; he had to deal with that before it drove him mad.

There was a gaping, aching hole where she had been in his life. He missed her terribly, missed her so much he felt like curling up and fading away. Sand blinked slowly, as he came to an understanding. He didn't matter anymore; he would protect his friends in Neverwinter as best he could, he would protect his own interests as best he could - but he - Sand - didn't matter anymore. It was foolish of him to think he would ever find simple happiness with a woman.

_Goodbye Torio. I love you._

"Let's go to your bed." He smiled at Nivarra. "I will never love you."

Nivarra returned his smile. "No," she said coldly. "You won't."

She stood, pulling Sand to his feet, and began quickly, swiftly, untying the elaborate robe she had picked out for him for the dinner. "I'm glad you understand the wisdom of your choice, wizard..." The rope opened under her hands, and she flicked it back off of his shoulders, her eyes traveling down the front of his torso. Her eyes flicked back up to his face. Wordlessly, her fingers caught in the waistband of his trousers, undoing them quickly. "Take them off," she said smoothly. "And lie down on the bed."

Sand slid his trews off, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor, keeping his gaze steady on her. Her eyes were glittering, glowing disconcertingly. He moved to her bed, pushing back the opulent covers and lying down flat on his back on the crisps sheets, his arms held limply at his sides. He half-closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, a cold heavy resignation settling on him. The air in her room was cool; he could feel the shifting movement of air over his body. He was naked but beyond that, he felt completely exposed as he waited for her.

Nivarra took her time. She watched Sand lying against her sheets for a long moment, his skin pale and smooth; his body was hairless, lithe and lean, proportioned expertly. _Perfect elves._

She slipped out of her robe, and loosened the tie that held her braided hair together. She ran her fingers through it absently, loosening the strands, and then slipped onto the bed, crawling over Sand's body. "Don't look so stoic, Sand. You should enjoy this." She kissed down his neck, across his chest, down the flat plane of his stomach. "I can make you enjoy this." Her lips were cool and wet as she kissed him down his body. He found himself gripping the bedsheet tightly as she moved closer and closer to his manhood. Her hands pressed against his thighs...he was hardening slowly, reluctantly, and her eyes flicked to his face, darkening with lust and power-hunger. She grasped his shaft between her fingers and pulled him into her mouth, her lips sliding over him slowly.

Her breasts were brushing against him as she bent over him and then he gave a sharp gasp as she took his semi-erect member into her mouth, wetting it liberally. He squirmed under her touch and then forced himself to relax.

_This is your life now Sand. Don't fight it._

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, letting every thought wash away from him. Soon there was nothing but Nivarra's mouth and tongue, sliding slowly and sensually up and down his entire length. He felt himself warming, felt the blood rushing down and engorging him and he moaned as her lips closed around the tip. "Oh gods..."

Nivarra worked over him, slowly drawing him in and out of her mouth as she felt his length harden and swell. She heard him moan, heard his voice; she could practically feel his muscles suddenly go lax beneath her fingers, his body sinking limply against the bed. "That's right," she whispered. "Just relax, my little wizard..." He was impossibly hard, whetted by her mouth, and she slid up his body until she was poised over him, looking down into his face. She slowly, carefully, slid her hips down over his, a slow exhale pushing from her throat as he filled her completely.

"There are worse fates, my slave," she whispered to him. "Do you not find me desirable? Does my body not please you? Look at me." She lifted her hips and lowered them slowly; her fingers dug into the mattress on either side of Sand's head. "Do you not want me? Your body tells me that you do."

His breath caught in his throat when he felt himself enter her. She was slick, the muscles of her wall tightening around him rhythmically as she slid around him. Sand slowly opened his eyes as she beckoned him too. Her pupils were dilated as she stared hungrily at him and he fought back a shiver; he really was nothing more than her plaything.

Over 3 centuries, a mind the size of Faerun and reduced to...this.

_Don't think Sand._

_Just pretend. You're a lawyer. You're good at creative truth-telling._

He wrapped his arms around her back, stroking the cool skin with his thumb. "Yes there are worse fates, mistress. I do find you desirable. Your body does please me. I...I want you." Every lie came easier, until he nearly believed the last one. He pushed upwards with his hips, spreading her legs further, letting his eyes fall shut again as he returned her thrusts.

Nivarra gasped as Sand pushed up against her, her eyes half-closing in pleasure. "Oh _yes_, my pet, like that." She lowered her head, kissing him fiercely, her mouth moving possessively over his as she began riding him in earnest, driving his body down into the mattress. Her fingers plunged into his hair, pulling his head back roughly as her kiss traveled down below his chin and to his neck. Her movements were succinct, meticulous, precise, demanding.

She saw his eyes close, and laughed breathlessly, her voice hoarse and thickened with lust. "Look at me," she said sharply; she bent her head once again and closed her mouth around the tip of his ear, biting it sharply. "There is no escape for you, elf. Look at _me_..."

Sand's eyelids snapped up and for a brief second, his blue eyes flashed dangerously angry. But just as quickly, he calmed himself even as the pain and pleasure of her teeth on his ears seared through him. "Of course, mistress." He groaned to the involuntary pleasure as she rode him hard but kept his eyes opened and on her. Her face was mean and fierce, no expression of care or affection crossing her eyes or lips for a moment. So Luskan.

It seemed to Sand that the gods wanted him in Luskan, wanted him to be Luskan.

_Give in Sand, you can't fight it._

He ran his fingers through her hair, pushing her face down to his, kissed her mouth with equal fervor. The lingering traces of wine were still on her lips and Sand pushed her lips apart with his tongue, tasting her. His hand ran down her back, gripping her buttocks tightly to him, pushing her forward until every last inch of him was inside her. He thrust up hard, into her, not caring for her pleasure or discomfort, feeling himself thicken further.

_Greedy like Luskan._

Nivarra gasped, letting out a ragged moan against his mouth. "Oh my gods...you eager little tool..." She leaned back, pressing her hands on either side of his narrow waist, her hair falling in ragged strands around her face. Her eyes were half-closed, mouth slightly parted as she fiercely drove against him, the bed rocking with her almost violent movements.

She gripped his body hard with her fingers, throwing her head back. Through her mind, images flashed...first it would be the Hosttower, and then from there maybe the elimination of Sydney Natale; she would ingratiate herself into the position of Ambassador, moving from city to city, gaining in power and prestige. With a powerful elven wizard at her disposal she could control almost any situation she needed to in order to plant her influence amongst the leaders of the Lords Alliance.

And someday...not just the Sword Coast, but all of Faerun. The elf would grow steadily in power, until they would be nearly unstoppable...and from Faerun...

She cried out almost triumphantly as her walls clenched around Sand's engorged shaft, her body shaking in release. Her finger pulled at his hips, drawing him into her body as she ground down against him, her muscles shuddering and contracting. The orgasm ripped through her, leaving her nearly weak and trembling in ecstasy as she envisioned herself as the most powerful woman in the world.

Sand felt her rock and spasm on top of him and narrowed his eyes almost shrewdly as he watched her writhe. She was thin, angular bones jutting out from her, her breasts small but pert, the dark nipples erect. Her voice, as she cried out, was high, almost reedy. His own sex was throbbing impossibly hard, responding eagerly to her throes of passion. He wrapped his hands around her waist as she relaxed, pushing off against the bed and rolling them both over until he was on top. "I hope my _mistress _doesn't mind?" He arched an eyebrow at her, his blue eyes cool.

Nivarra narrowed her eyes at him coolly, her mouth twisting into a humorless smile. "I suppose I can reward my pet...you've been very good tonight." She stretched out underneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist, her eyebrow cocking expectantly.

Sand burrowed his face into her neck, his nose twitching at the smell of perfume and mint...

_Better get used to that smell, Sand._

His mouth closed around the skin of her shoulder and he pushed himself hard into her, wiggling his hips forward until every last inch of him was inside. His hand shifted, grasping her breast possessively, rolling the dark nipples between his fingers. He sighed, imperceptibly, and then without further fanfare began impaling her to the mattress, listening to the sticky thumping of his body against hers. Each drive forward was ruthless, unyielding as he invaded her narrow body; as he stared into her eyes, there was no affection. She held his leash, she held his life; he would find a way to wrest control of both from her in the end. Somehow.

There was only goal, one end as he pushed himself in and then withdrew, his breathing becoming ragged. It all became a cold, flat mechanical series of actions as the loathing bubbled up inside of him even as he felt his shaft begin to pulsate. Oh gods how he despised her and all that she represented, how he despised himself for giving in so easily. He was using her as she was using him; and he would find satisfaction where he could eke it out.

He felt her wall sliding against the entire length of him as she lay languidly beneath him and then he suddenly sunk his teeth into her shoulder, crying out muffled, "Ohh...!" as he pumped his hips forward one last time. His whole erection gave a shudder and he felt himself spill into her, each contraction bringing to his lips another whimper. He let his whole body go limp, defeated, on top of her, his eyes staring blankly at the side of her head even as the last of his climax ebbed away.

He felt lonelier and emptier than ever.

Nivarra slid her arms around Sand for a moment, her fingers stroking his hair almost soothingly. "What a delightful little puppet you've turned out to be," she said silkily. She yawned, stretching under him, and pushed his body away from her, sitting up and plumping her pillows. "Go now, slave, back to your bed." Her voice was offhanded, cool, impersonal as she glanced back at his naked, sweat-slicked body. Her face was hard. "And do not doze off right away; my father will have left you another list of spells to memorize; he will not accept excuses if you drift off and fail to do so."

She pulled the blankets up, nestling down into the bed, stretching her arms over her head. "Go on, shoo. I am tired." She smiled at him lazily. "It was an enjoyable evening, wizard. I've never had a slave of such...caliber, before." Her eyes flicked pointedly between his legs. "I will wake you in the morning."

And with that, she turned on her side, away from him, nestling down into the sheets.

Sand paused, and then slid off the bed. He turned and studied her back, her steady breathing, seeing the way her hair fell around her shoulders and neck as she slept. Her white throat was bare in the moonlight, vulnerable. They were alone in the room, the guards dismissed, the servants sleeping. Just him. And her. His eyes hardened; they glittered darkly in the silver light but then Sand blinked, letting the moment pass. He picked up his clothes and padded barefoot and naked back to his room before getting dressed again.

As Nivarra had indicated, a sheet of parchment had been left on his desk and he picked it up, scanning the list of spells distractedly while fingering the _ariik _gem around his neck. He put the spell list down and pulled a few clean empty phials from the alchemical bench. Rummaging through the ingredients at his disposal, he found a small envelope containing dried oenothera extract.

An hour later, Sand emerged from his room, holding an elegant vial with a pink fluid. The flask was warm from the freshly brewed potion. He tiptoed silently into Nivarra's room and put the glass down on the small table by her bedside. She hadn't moved from her position. Sand retreated back to his room and lay down on his small mattress, the oil lamp burning lowly. He thumbed through his spellbook, studying this arcane scripts, feeling the ghost of Torio pressed up against his back, arm draped over his waist, her clear eyes peering over his shoulder...


	9. Chapter 9

**Volume 3, Chapter 09 – Torio: Second Sight**

_**Author's Note: We just became aware that some of our readers are unaware we have been posting TWO chapters at a time and have been missing the first chapter of the pair, and are instead reading the last chapter directly. The first chapter posted will typically be Torio's story - so if this Chapter 9 entry seems out of place, chances are Chapters 3,5, and/or 7 have been missed!  
**_

A white fog had rolled into the camp overnight. The atmosphere was muted in the morning as the tribe of lupinals began breaking up camp, their movements totally silent except for the occasional dropped item or quiet word of instruction. The fire was put out with a loud hiss and then dirt was used to cover it up. Nearly the entire camp was packed up when a young lupinal female was sent to Torio's tent, the lupinals giving the human as much sleep as she needed. "Torio? It's time to wake up."

Torio opened her eyes; she had slept hard, and she was awake almost instantly as she heard the noise of camp breaking up. "Thank you," she murmured blearily, and scrambled to her feet, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted from utter blackness to morning light.

She peered at the young female lupinal as she glanced out of the tent flap. "You don't waste time," she said quietly. "When do we leave?"

The young lupinal smiled, "No worries, sister. We leave in small groups. The first scouting group has already left. You will be part of one of the middle groups, where it will be safest for you. Your friend Brandobras will be with you, and Dahras has requested that he join that group as well. Take your time, get ready, eat. It will be at least half an hour before your group will be ready to move."

It was a blur of finding water to wash with, having a steaming piece of some kind of cooked meat and a handful of unidentified berries shoved into her hands, repacking her equipment and staring at the maps momentarily; she had no clue where they were, only where Dahras had found her the day before; after that they had cut through the winding, wooded terrain, and now it was anyone's guess where she was.

She found a small pool of water, apparently runoff from the nearby river; even though the water was stationary, it remained cool and clear, and she gratefully dunked her head, letting it run through her hair and over her scalp. _Rosewater baths..._

When she arrived back at camp, damp-haired, fed, and packed, the tent she had slept in had already been taken down, and a group of lupinals hailed her as she approached.

They set off immediately, single file through the woods moving at a brisk pace. Brandobras practically had to run in order to keep up with the much taller lupinals and after a while, the lupinals took turns carrying him on their backs. They stopped several times, or whenever it appeared as though Torio was getting tired but never once did they complain about their progress. At one point, Brandobras even began singing from his perch atop the shoulders of a muscular white lupinal, singing a festive halfling song about mead and girls with pretty curls. The mood was light; casual observers would have never known the group was traveling towards a battle.

The group reached the Duke's temporary stronghold as the sun was setting. Many brightly colored tents and banners were set up in a large field. Many creatures were gathered, not just lupinals but small groups of all the other types of guardinals could be seen as well. Dahras led them through the throngs of people unerringly until he found his mother's tent and the rest of the group.

Chaksa looked up from stoking the fire, "You have made it, safe and sound. Torio, we meet the Duke in three hours time. Will that give you enough time to go over the reports? The musteval spies have delivered to me the latest ones and they are in my tent for you."

Torio nodded, breathing hard as they finally came to a stop. She bent over slightly, resting her hands on her thighs. "Three hours...hopefully good enough. I'll get started right away."

She pushed into the tent, wearily letting her pack slide to the ground by the door and moving towards the only table there, set up in the center of the room with a few piles of furs placed around it. She sat, pulling the parchments towards her; her mind was filed with stories of lupinals and a scattering of other creatures disappearing; portals opening in unlikely places, ambushes, kidnappings; they seemed to be drawing a lot of attention to themselves and the planes they were launching the attacks from.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. On one hand it would be foolishness to be drawn into such a transparent trap; the lupinals would be cut off from support elsewhere on Elysium, and caught in completely unfamiliar territory. Had it been any other place, she would have suggested they cut their losses, say a prayer for those captured, and meet the enemy on their own plane, taking care of the real threat.

But this was Elysium; she doubted Chaksa would simply accept the loss of the ambush victims. If the devils expected any kind of force in their lands they'd expect a large one...maybe hoping for the entire force to commit itself.

_Gods, I wish Sand were here._ She wasn't used to thinking like this; tactical maneuvers were so much easier when soldiers lives were expendable... and so she sat, bent over the reports, thinking and reading and losing all track of time.

Half the camp was already asleep when a timid voice called out, "Torio? The war council would like to see you..." The same lupinal from the morning escorted Torio from her tent to the largest tent in the middle of the clearing, passing many small fires. The creatures all looked up curiously as she passed but there was no hostility in their gaze.

A tall, broad shouldered equinal was waiting for her. "Welcome, come inside. You are most privileged, human, to be invited to the Elysian war council, for not only is Duke Lucan here but also Lord Hwyn of the Equinals and the Duchess Callisto of the Ursinals. Depending on what is decided tonight, the other lords and the Prince himself may come."

The inside of the tent was large but simply furnished. A low circular table was arranged in the middle, all the creatures sitting on cushions or low stools. Duchess Callisto was a large white bearlike woman, exuding a calmness as she sat there, towering over even Chaksa. Lord Hwyn was a golden-colored stallion, his mane flowing down his muscular back and chest, his nostrils flaring as if he could not wait for the fight to begin. Duke Lucan was a regal and majestic wolflike man, his ebony fur and blue eyes shining in the torchlight. A few thin, ferret like creatures were also present, standing twitchily in the background, their eyes and ears never ceasing to move.

They all turned when Torio entered and cleared a space for her at the table. Chaksa spoke up, "May I present to you Torio Claven, the newest addition to my pack. She is from the Prime Material Plane and has experience in these matters. Please, we mustn't waste time. What do you think?"

For a moment, she stood spellbound, amazed by the creatures that surrounded her. They were all looking at her, waiting expectantly.

She cleared her throat, and began. "First and foremost, the ambushes, kidnappings, portals...they're serving as a distraction. It's a tactic that's been used often in the past, and something the creatures you describe are known for." Her heart was thumping with slight nervousness, but her voice was clipped and succinct..._her court voice._ "They're trying to draw you off of this plane for a reason, and committing the entire force to a raid would prove disastrous." Her voice became a little quiet. "No matter how fearless your troops are."

Torio paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I would assume you are intent on retrieving your lost ones. There are tactics used by nomadic tribes on my world that involve splitting your main force up into numerous smaller ones, and attacking swiftly, from multiple directions at once. It will be impossible for them to wipe out your entire army with a single blow; and you will only engage for a short period of time, striking hard, and quickly, and then pulling away." She had begun pacing slightly; there was not a lot of room for her to move, but she hardly noticed she had begun until she had already crossed her small stretch of floor multiple times. "The confusion would keep them occupied; it would throw them off balance, and allow you to take a small...a _small_ force...into their realm and retrieve your people."

Torio stopped moving, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's the best method of ensuring you not only bring your lost ones back, but that you succeed in driving off your enemy as well." She clasped her hands behind her back, setting her jaw squarely and awaiting their response.

As soon as Torio finished speaking, the creatures gathered around the table began speaking excitedly. The tent was filled with a whole range of voices, from the low melodious ones to high, squeaky ones.

_"...would Prince Talisid come and..."_

_  
"...who would go in to..."_

_  
"...it's risky true but..."_

_"...I don't think we have much of a choice..."_

Finally Duke Lucan rapped sharply on the table, calling the meeting to order. "Your plan calls for waiting for the devils to attack; what if they never do, and simply continue to kidnap our citizens? Would that not be another way for them to win the battle without ever lifting a weapon?"

One of the mustevals at the back raised a paw, and squeaked in Celestial. Chaksa translated for Torio, "She is suggesting doing something to draw them here if we cannot wait?"

The Duchess gave a low rumbling growl, looking up from the thick tome she had been flipping through, "I do not know if I would risk openly provoking them. The Archdukes are only looking for a legitimate reason to invade us with their entire force. Taunting them would only risk them uniting under one banner. As it stands now, I suspect these are the efforts of only one general or one army. Besides, evil has no great patience. They will strike sooner rather than later. In fact when they do strike, I suspect we will wish it had been later rather than sooner. They know the longer they wait, the more prepared and organized we will be. No, my instincts say they will launch an attack soon." She looked down at her book again, flipping rapidly through the pages despite her massive clawed hands. "Especially if we make it seem as though we have no intentions of retrieving our stolen ones."

She closed her eyes, leaning back and folding her hands across her stomach. "No, it is not a matter of _when_ but a question of _where_. Will they come to us directly? Will they attack the settlements and force us to go to them? Where?"

There was another few minutes of intense debate until the golden equinal stood. Duke Hwyn snorted, shaking his mane fiercely, the muscles of his neck rippling "The Equinals will not back down from a fight once we engage. Telling us to pull away? You might as well tell us to...cut off our arms!"

Chaksa spoke up, her voice soft, "You do not retreat out of cowardice, my Lord Hwyn, but out of good strategy. None would ever even think the equinals were nothing less than brave. The human speaks true; open warfare would be a bloodbath. Even if we were to win and win valiantly, it would be at what cost?"

Duke Lucan was staring off in the distance, nodding. "The lupinal tribe are used to such diversionary and split pack tactics; we are not adverse to ambushing and deceiving our enemies. We are also capable of communicating over greater distances. By your leave and with the permission of Prince Talisid, I will suggest the lupinals lead the smaller attack units. We will require, without a doubt, the aid of Duke Windheir of the Avorals and Lord Rhanok of the Cervidals. Have one of the avorals present at this encampment tonight send word. We will reconvene when all Five Companions are gathered."

There were quiet murmurs of assent and a musteval quickly darted from the room, carrying a small piece of parchment. Duke Lucan turned back to the group, placing his large hands on the table. "Very well. Any further comments, questions?"

Torio watched the creatures surrounding her carefully; they seemed prepared to disperse, and she still had something very important she needed to ask...she glanced at Chaksa during the brief silence as everyone looked around expectantly, and then as the guardinals began saying their farewells for the evening, she stepped forward.

"Duke Lucan," she asked, her voice carrying over the rustling and quiet murmuring. "Can I speak with you for a moment? I have something I need to ask of you."

Duke Lucan looked up at Torio, pricking his large ears forward. "Of course, Torio." He waited until the last of the others had left; soon it was just him, Chaksa and Torio. "Please, come closer so that we may be able to speak without shouting across the table." The lupinal watched the human with his blue eyes, blinking at her. "I want to thank you for all you have done for us, outsider. We appreciate your insight and your efforts. So what now, can the lupinals - or I - do for you?"

Torio frowned slightly for a moment as she approached the lupinal; his blue eyes eerily reminded her of...

She shook her head slightly and cleared her throat. What did one call a lupinal ruler? "My lord," she began..._safe bet_..."I have already spoken with Chaksa on this matter; I have promised to aid you and the rest of the guardinals here, but I did travel this direction for a reason. I am trying to return to Abeir-Toril." She vaguely wondered how much Chaksa had told the duke, or if she had told him everything, but she kept her voice polite and guarded. "It has no bearing on this war of yours. I've already said I would help, but I must ask you if you can...if you would help me to return."

The Duke nodded slowly. "Yes. I think we can manage that; at the very least we can send you to Sigil and from there you can find a gateway back to your Plane. But you understand it will have to be after the war...and will depend upon the outcome of the battle. And Prince Talisid of course, may say otherwise but I doubt it. He is wise and kind."

He began rolling up maps and cleaning up the tent. "Chaksa told me about Sand, your lover. I hope you can be re-united with him. You have all of our sympathy with regards to your plight. You will find the people here all willing to lend you whatever support it is you need."

Torio wished, just for a moment, that someone would appear out of the woodwork, solve their problems, and give her a definitive answer. _ "Yes, I can send you directly back to Toril, Faerun, and wherever else you want to go, right now!"_

But it seemed she'd be wandering for quite some time. Once she found Sand, she was going to help him, heal him, resurrect him if she had to, free him, save him, whatever it was that he needed...and then give him the worst tongue lashing he had ever had in his life. _Save my life and send me running across the planes through all sorts of madness...that arrogant, commandeering..._

Torio sighed, and gave a slight bowing bob of her head. "Thank you," she said, and turned, exiting the tent and out into the evening air.

Brandobras and Dahras were there to meet her; the two seemed to have formed an easy-going friendship. The lupinal was practically dancing with excitement. "What happened in there? What did you tell them? Are they letting you go home? Are we going to war with the baatezu?"

Even Brandobras was looking up at her with bright eyes. "I've offered to stay as well and help out. Don't know what I would be good at; maybe helping with the wounded or running errands but can't rightly go back to my home with all this evil smiting about to happen."

They walked through the fields; the creatures still up waving to them, offering them food and drink as they passed. Two avorals, standing at nearly 7 feet tall, were practising mid-air combat moves in the dark, being cheered on by a few burly equinals. The whole mood was nearly festive.

A young cervidal ran up to them. "A few of us are going down to the River to see what the merchants have. Come with us!"

Torio shook her head incredulously. "On the brink of war, and you're worried about merchants" she said, nearly laughing; but she followed as they maneuvered through the tents, passing all manner of amazing creatures. More than a few of them stopped and watched them walk past, the cervidal, the lupinal, the halfling, and the human woman whose taint apparently clung to her like a second skin. Again, there was no hostility towards her, but just to be safe she stayed close, a slim, short-haired figure swallowed in a sea of grand and majestic creatures.

The tents thinned slightly as they walked down the slope towards the river, and there safely tucked behind the camp was a bustle of activity, lights flickering along the edge of the river. "The merchants?" She asked as they came closer. "What exactly do they sell in Elysium? You seem to have anything one could possibly want growing from the very trees."

Dahras laughed, poking at Brandobras. "Including halfings!" They approached the first boat and he continued speaking, "Meats, leather wares, furs. We do not hunt the animals of this plane for food or hides, in case you didn't notice. Gems, tools, jewels, magical items... Surely on Toril your merchants sell similar items?"

The cervidal darted off towards a boat, bounding away in great leaps. "I know what I'm getting! There's a merchant here that sells sweetened snow!"

Brandobras began moving from boat to boat, browsing the wares. "I could use a sturdy cloak...Oooh a Continual Light stone, that's handy..." Soon, he too, was lost among the throngs of buyers.

Dahras turned to Torio and gestured, "Go on! Have a look. Many of merchants are not from our Plane and carry many exotic items. They trade for gold, items or favors. If you see anything you like, let me know." He patted a small coin purse gallantly. "My treat for the lady! I already know what I want."

He picked up a simple round rubber ball. When he tossed it in the air, it zipped and bobbed around his head until he caught it between his teeth. "I had one of these when I was a pup and lost it when I threw it into the River."

Torio laughed. "In the river? Why did you do that?" An equinal bumped into her, and snorted at her in apology before moving on. One voice was shouting in a language she didn't recognize, drawing a small crowd to the edge of one boat and causing the traffic along the bank to become even more disorganized. She caught her fingers gently but firmly in the thick fur on Dahras' back, desperately trying not to be lost in the crowd as they moved through the slight congestion towards the brightly lit boats ahead of them. Lights were dancing above one of them, swirling and buzzing over a colorfully dressed figure on the bow; another seemed to be bedecked with brightly lit, colorful gems, a pair of dark-skinned humans juggling them expertly. She gave a slight push against his back. "Let's head over there!"

Dahras laughed, "Well I didn't throw it in there on purpose! It fell in and floated away before I could retrieve it." He obliged when Torio began nudging him in the direction of the jugglers. The crowds were much taller than Torio so without warning, Dahras picked her up and seated her on his shoulders so she could see. "Better view?"

The jugglers slowly began lighting the gems with a magical blue fire, still tossing them back and forth expertly, as the crowds went "Oooh! Ahh!" One of the jugglers caught Torio's eyes and flashed her a big smile, his white teeth a sharp contrast to his ebony skin. With a dramatic fanfare, they tossed the gems into the air where they soared impossibly high. A moment later, the entire skies erupted into multihued animated fireworks, lighting up the faces of all the citizens below, staring up in awe and wonder. Dahras and the others began a thunderous applause, which echoed through the valley and back.

Torio yelped in surprised as she was (once again) balanced on a set of broad shoulders (admittedly, these were slightly hairier than Robbie's). She watched in unabashed fascination as the jugglers worked, smirking wryly as one of them managed to smile at her and still not drop the gems across the deck. She clung lightly to Dahras' shoulders as the lupinal began cheering along with the crowd, her head tilted back as the fireworks exploded above them.

Torio laughed, bending over and looking upside down into Dahras' face. "This is what planars call a war party? All of you are mad."

Dahras laughed and gently deposited Torio back on the grass, patting her head. "Mad, certainly, but I am fairly certain Elysian petitioners throw better parties than those in Baator!" The crowds were slowly dispersing, with a few creatures going over to talk to the jugglers.

The young cervidal returned, holding a thin pastry with sweetened snow stacked on top. "I love this. If I had my way, all I would do is eat this day and night. But, a girl's gotta mind her figure."

Dahras chuckled before he turned back to Torio. "Shall we continue browsing the wares? Find some of the gaming boats? Or should we find Brandobras and head back?"

The cervidal gestured towards a boat at the end. "You could speak to the Mysterious Mijil. She's supposed to be able to tell your future."

Torio sobered slightly as she followed where the cervidal's hand pointed. "Your future, is it?" She gave a tug on Dahras' arm. "I'm intensely interested in speaking to her, then; come on, this can't take too long...I'm human. She'll only got a certain number of years to pick through, compared to you lot."

She took off, dodging lightly through the larger creatures that amassed between her and the boat at the end of the line; unlike the others, it wasn't brightly lit and glittering with dazzling lights; mundane torches flickered around the rail, and an elegant, velveted looking curtain covered the door to the cabin at the top of the gangplank. A grinning musteval at the bottom of the plank held out a paw. "Three gold to speak to Mysterious Mijil," it said amiably.

Dahras paid the price and the musteval ushered them in. Inside the cabin, strange leaves were being burnt at a small altar, giving off a heavy, drowsy smell. The entire cabin was lit somehow by an orangey light and yet no torches or candles could be seen. The cabin was full of oddities: jars of basilisk eyes, slaad tongues, roc feathers, drying herbs, dusty books, scattered bones and a broken mechanical clock whose hands seemed to spin around at random. There was a small circular table in the middle of the cabin, covered by burgandy cloth.

Dahras pulled out a chair for Torio before sitting down himself. A moment later a backdoor opened and stepping through a beaded curtain, an avariel seated herself across from them. Her white hair shone in the odd light and she was beautiful, but her beauty was marred by her ragged and broken wings, held awkwardly at an angle from her body.

"You have come seeking answers. Speak to the Mysterious Mijil and be satisfied."

Torio leaned forward slightly over the table; the avariel looked back at her placidly, her eyes ageless and lovely and utterly unnerving. She swallowed hard, and said, "You can tell the future, I heard; can you tell me mine? What will happen if I go back? To Toril?" Her heart hammered; part of her wanted to scoff, to walk right back out again. She had seen enough two-copper charlatans in her rounds of the Sword Coast to know that a true seer didn't sulk on riverboats charging handfuls of coins for a glimpse into your ultimate destiny.

But she had received too many half-answers and vague affirmations in the past few days...she needed, if only for a moment, something solid. _Even if it did end up being all a lie._

The avariel reached over and pulled out a box containing several small blue and white gems. She shook them in her hands before tossing them dramatically on the table. They fell with an odd heaviness and settle ominously into the fabric of the table cloth. "Visions across the Planes are difficult, human. But this much I can see: the one you seek is gone and has been reborn anew. His future is dark but he embraces his new mistress. Your paths are at a...a...'crossroads'; you hold his salvation three times in your hands." Suddenly her eyes went blank and half rolled back into her head. A strangely familiar voice filled the room. "You have quite a bit of power over his situation, girl."

Torio's heart seized and froze in her chest. She stared at the avariel's face; the winged elf's glazed eyes stared sightlessly at some point none of them could see.

She swallowed hard, inhaling raggedly and slowly. _Garius_. "It's you," she whispered. She could almost feel him in the room, the familiar creeping fear and bitter despair crawling down her spine. This couldn't be real; how could Garius reach her here, of all places? _ By the gods, when would she ever be rid of him? _

Lost and reborn anew...a new mistress? "What do you know of his situation?"

The lights of the cabin flickered and dimmed. Garius' voice came to her, soothing. "The elf that defeated you - us? He's sold his soul to Luskan. He's taken a new mistress, a new lover." The voice paused and then chuckled cruelly, a strange combination of Garius' voice and the avariel's beauty. "They share beds...she even rubs his ears. Come back to me Torio and I will return Sand to you. My power grows now that I can even reach across the Planes..."

Suddenly the oppressiveness of the room was lifted. The avariel gasped, taking in a long ragged breath. She started at Torio, frightened. "Please...leave."

Dahras was still sitting there, every hair on his body bristling. He quickly stood and exited the cabin, leaving the boat before turning around and waiting for Torio.

Torio stood so quickly that the chair behind her tumbled over, rattling noisily against the floor. She backed up towards the door, feeling the blood drain methodically from her face, from her limbs...it felt like everything she was, everything she had been filled with since she had landed on this plane seemed to be draining from her.

She stumbled back out the door, nearly slid down the gangplank; her legs wouldn't hold her, and she landed on her knees, the brilliantly starred sky reeling above her.

_Come back to me..._

A voice was screaming, yelling in wordless rage and frustration and pain; her chest was on fire, bolts lancing through her heart and lungs, and she covered her face, realizing belatedly that the voice was her own. Hot tears spilled from her eyes; he was in Luskan, then, perhaps having betrayed Neverwinter, perhaps reveling in the types of things that Gweynn had promised him...before he had killed her. _A new lover._

She had partaken in the destruction of multitudes, and had nearly brought entire cities crumbling around her in triumph. But at the moment, all Torio Claven could do was press her face into the grassy bank beneath her and weep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Volume 3, Chapter 10 – Sand: Bargaining for Betrayal and Loyalty**

Nivarra woke early, feeling remarkably refreshed. The first thing her hazel, half-open eyes fell on was a small vial filled with a pink fluid. Her lips twitched in genuine amusement as she sat up, fingers sliding around the glass vial. She drank it willingly, knowing the geas prevented the wizard from hurting her so directly; the taste was not unpleasant, and before she even had time to place the empty vial back down, her maidservant was at her side, taking it from her with downcast eyes. "Your father awaits you for breakfast, my lady. As does Lord Biren."

Her heart thumped with anticipation as she washed and dressed, her maidservant piling her long hair on her head in an elegant riot of iron-heated curls. It was a marked occasion; this morning would be the first step in her fathers plan...as well as her own.

She sat at her vanity mirror, powdering her face lightly. "Go fetch my slave," she told her maidservant. "And for gods' sake, be quick about it."

The woman bobbed her head and scurried from the room, pushing open Sand's door and kneeling next to the elf. "The mistress wants you," she said, kneeling next to Sand and shaking him lightly.

Sand opened his eyes and then let them close for another second before sitting up. "Thank you, dear girl. I think I know the routine; you don't have to stay with me. Wash up, get dressed, follow her like a whipped cur." He stood, kicking the blankets off and proceeded to the main room. Nivarra was sitting at her mirror, fussing over her make up. Sand stopped in the doorway and then said with the mock cordiality he normally reserved Nevalle, "Good morning, mistress. I certainly hope you slept well."

He slipped quietly into the bathing room, quickly washing himself and dressing in the simple blue robe that had been laid out for him. The components belt went around his waist and then he re-entered Nivarra's room, learning against the doorframe. "As it _so_ pleases my mistress..."

Nivarra glanced at Sand in her mirror, cold amusement on her face. "Long night, slave?" She stood, patting her hair, before turning and walking to him, examining him shrewdly. "I am going to dine with my father and Lord Biren this morning; when we're finished he will no doubt call you for your questioning. Remember what I told you last night; whatever it is you know about the map, keep it to yourself. The Hosttower's contact at Orban Asrar's auction was conveniently killed in an attack on her tower. The murder caused all sorts of rumors fly, and now I doubt even the Overmages know what that artificer's map was supposed to reveal."

She turned from him, her skirts swishing as she exited the room. "Be prepared. My father will have need of you once Lord Biren is finished." She glanced at him coyly over her shoulder as she left. "We may be dining in the Hosttower tonight, little slave. Do not disappoint me on this."

And then she was gone, and for the moment, Sand was alone.

Sand watched her exit her room and hear the click of the lock. He quickly cast _Alarm_ on the door and then moved around her room, carefully examining books and parchments. He crouched in front of the various drawers and cabinets, wishing he had Neeshka's skill with discerning traps and picking locks and then chuckled dryly. What a day it was, when he envied the tiefling's unlawful skills. There was no way he would be able to tell if any of the drawers were trapped and Sand wouldn't risk it. Yet.

He lifted the various paintings around the room, checking for safes or chests, rolling up rugs to look for trap doors. He ran his fingers along the walls, feeling for edges of secret doors, rapping occasionally for hollow points.

Behind the vanity bureau, he found it; a seam that could be seen in the wood paneling of Nivarra's walls. The secret door opened up into a small side room that was utterly pitch black, although Sand could see every detail. There were numerous candles scattered about what appeared to be a small study; a desk was wedged against one far wall, and on it were numerous rather complicated looking spell books, many containing rituals dedicated to Shar. One particular book detailed a rather archaic and vague ritual that hinted at invoking a Nightbringer, an avatar of Shar herself.

There were many scrawled notes in a spidery, scratched handwriting; "_...need something as a catalyst, preferably from Selune's sphere of influence, the hatred the goddesses have for each other might prove enough to cause a reaction..." "...tried casting this part of the spell, it nearly killed me...I need more..." "...the Shadow Weave? Rumors in the south..." "...followers of Mystra despise..." "...so close!! What does this phrase _mean?" There were scattered implements and crude, half-drunk potions everywhere, and a few spellbooks looked to have been tossed around, as if in frustration or rage; some even had pages ripped out, small pieces of parchment littering the floor.

Sand wrinkled his nose disdainfully at the mess, carefully picking his way through without disturbing the scattered paper. He held his breath as he read through the notes. Was Nivarra attempting to be a host for a Nightbringer? Did the girl know what that meant?

_The Shadow Weave_. Sand suddenly got a sinking, cold feeling. _The King of Shadows. Shar. _

Was Nivarra going to try to tap into the power of the King of Shadows to become a Nightbringer? He carefully put the notes down and exited the room, meticulously rearranging the room as he had found it. Next opportunity he got, he would have to return to study the ritual and her notes. She was playing a dangerous game; but Sand was going to play a more dangerous one. If Sand could find the keys to the ritual, he would become invaluable to her. If she used the Guardian to become a Nightbringer, there was first of all, a good chance the ritual would fail and she would be dead and Sand would be freed. If she succeeded, and those at the Keep defeated the King of Shadows (though Sand wasn't holding his breath here), she would lose her powers and most likely die from it as well. And if they couldn't defeat the King of Shadows? Then a Nightbringer would be a meager threat to the land, all things considering.

He closed the door with a click and pushed the bureau back in position. His mind was racing. It was a crazy, desperate plot for his freedom but was he a crazy and desperate elf? Was it worth it? Suddenly there was a faint chiming ringing in his ears; his_ Alarm_ spell was sounding. Somebody was coming. Sand quickly stepped back from the bureau and bolted back to his room, taking what he hoped was a casual seat at the desk. Just as the door unlocked and clicked open, Sand very quietly cast _Fleeting Fame _on himself and stood to greet his visitor.

The door pushed open, and a small figure peeked into the room. "M'striss says come," said the half-elven boy; a guard could be seen hovering at the door, watching them both carefully through the crack. "Follow me, pliss."

The boy turned and led Sand out of the chamber and down the hall; the guard watched them, but made no move to follow as they turned the corner. As they walked, the boy kept glancing at Sand from under his downcast eyelids; a few times his mouth opened to speak, but every time he would glance at the guards dotting the hallways and remain silent. When they finally reached a single, ornate looking door, the boy pushed it open, his head down, and gestured for Sand to go in.

Biren sat in an opulent Library, across from Lord Dornan and Nivarra. All three stopped talking and looked up as soon as Sand entered. Dornan smiled thinly. "It seems your end of the arrangement has arrived, my friend. Come, Nivarra...let us leave our guest with his prize. We'll return for him in an hour, Biren." So saying, Dornan stood, gesturing for his daughter to do the same. Nivarra rose lithely to her feet, nodding her head cordially in Biren's direction; the man merely arched a brow back at her. Father and daughter turned as one and walked past Sand to the door; Nivarra's eyes flicked to his for a moment and narrowed a fraction before they were gone, the door shutting behind them.

Biren gestured towards the seat across from him. "Have a seat, wizard. I trust my friend and his daughter have handled your...servitude with adequate care, have they not?"

Sand sat down, giving Biren a slight smile, "Yes, I don't have much to complain about other than the fact I have gone from a free elf in Neverwinter to a captive 'plaything' in Luskan. But really, that would be particular and rude of me, now, would it?" He found himself wishing he had a wine glass to toy with; instead, he gripped the armrest of the large, high back chair he was in. The more he stalled, the less information he would give out. "So you are affiliated with the Red Dragon? I must admit, in all my time at Luskan, I never had the opportunity to deal with the trading company."

Biren sat back, eyeing the elf before him; the wizard's tone was sarcastic, edged with bitterness; he was clean, washed, decently-dressed, but he knew Nivarra well enough not to wish personal captivity underneath her thumb on anyone.

Still, the geas would prove a benefit to him; he had bargained for information, and information he would receive. "You will, eventually; even the paupers in Luskan manage to cross paths with the Red Dragon, if only for a swift stint as a caravan guard or mercenary." His mouth twitched humorlessly. "And if not the paupers, why not the political prisoners, as well?" Biren leaned forward, regarding the elf coolly. "You are aware, already, that I have questions for you, wizard of Neverwinter...but first, answer me one thing." His eyes narrowed slightly. "What is your opinion of Nivarra? Barring your involuntary imprisonment, of course." His eyes gleamed in a calculated fashion.

Sand gave a short, sharp laugh at Biren's question. His geas gave a strange, warm tug on his chest. "Nivarra is like every woman I have ever met from Luskan. Ambitious, driven, and intelligent. Pretty enough, for a human anyway, though you must take into account my fondness for elves first. She is cruel and she knows it. I think she revels in it. I give her my grudging respect but not my love."

Sand leaned back and met Biren's gaze full on, giving him a sly grin, "Looking for a wife, my liege?"

Biren laughed almost jovially. "If I ever have a death wish, I will consider taking Nivarra as a wife. No...but there are some that are watching her actions closely; her father is willing to negotiate for the mutual benefit of all parties." Biren stroked his beard ponderingly. "He is good for his business. Nivarra, on the other hand, is infinitely her mother's daughter; she will always try to gain the upper hand at the detriment to everyone involved." He shook his head. "Bad business. Theona is dreading the day Dornan passes and leaves everything to her."

Biren glanced around the room, and then leaned across the small knee table between their chairs, lowering his voice. "What if I...could persuade you to...keep an eye on your mistress for me?" He raised his hand for a second, as if to stave of any words. "I understand the nature of your...captivity prevents you from doing anything to her _directly..._but the Red Dragon would most definitely lose out if anything were to happen that would place Nivarra in control over her father's estate. She is unmanageable." He toyed with the end of his beard, watching the elf. "All you would have to do is supply information to one of my contacts on a daily basis." He arched one bushy, greying eyebrow expectantly, waiting.

Sand kept his face impassive. _Ah, so it begins. The bargaining for betrayal and loyalty. _

"Let's entertain for a moment, that I do agree. If I were to get caught, I would no doubt be killed or sold off to that delightful Mr. Blackfeather. That would be most unpleasant. What could I possibly have to gain from such an arrangement with you? How do I know you're not a spy from Lord Dornan or his daughter, coming to test my loyalty to them?" Sand tilted his head towards Biren, his blue eyes sharp.

Biren snorted. "Why test your loyalty? They're no fools; you're a prisoner, wizard; they have no need to trust your intentions, they simply trust the geas hooked into your very soul." The old mercenary leaned back, watching Sand in something akin to amusement. "Compensation, is it? A chance to ruin your mistress not enough for you?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "There is not much I can do about the spell that keeps you at her side, wizard...but I can offer you the protection of the Red Dragon, if it comes down to it. She would look unfavorably on you spying for me, that much is for certain; but by doing this, you make yourself invaluable to me, and ultimately to the Red Dragon Merchant Company." His eyebrows lifted meaningfully. "And we take care of those who take care of us."

Biren sat back, his demeanor returning to politely distant. "Take a moment to think about it." He gestured towards a piece of parchment and a quill and ink bottle resting on the small table between them. "Perhaps while you write the names of the spies for Neverwinter currently planted in Luskan."

Sand picked up the quill and dipped it slowly into the inkbottle. He wrote out in his elegant script 'Lightfoot' 'Molly' and 'Silverfox' before pausing, and then cheekily added, 'Sand'. He blew lightly on the parchment, praying that they had received his warning and them and all the others were now far far away and safe.

He handed the paper to Biren and as the man took it from him, Sand said quietly, "So then it appears I shall go from being one Luskan's slave to another's... I pray, friend, that you are good on your word of protection." He steepled his fingers, staring over them. "I am, in my own right, a mage of considerable talents. I would make a formidable ally as well and...am up for further negotiations."

His geas was heating up in his chest and Sand coughed, forcing the feeling back down. He wondered if Torio knew what he was doing, if she would be proud of him, negotiating with Luskanites like this.

Biren took the parchment, glancing at it. His eyebrows rose slightly, and he looked back at Sand, his voice wry. "I see slavery hasn't stolen away your sense of impropriety." He folded it, the barest of smiles flicking across his face. "We understand your level of skill, _Sand_. I hear Dornan paid a considerable sum to the authorities to get his hands on you." The parchment slipped back into his cloak, and he leaned forward again. "The deal is simply this; Dornan has a small contingent of servants that he hires daily off the streets. They meet the Housemaster at the gates to the estate and the first twenty that he chooses earn a days wages and two hot meals, working as grounds labor and lower level house keepers. We send in a new contact every day to keep an eye on Dornan's affairs." Biren's face split into a grin. "I'm almost positive that the man knows what we're up to, but he's fair, if ruthless. He knows it's the way of things, and he includes us on most of his major business transactions."

"You will never meet the same person twice." Biren tapped the table meaningfully. "You will never draw attention to one singular contact. The servants are go-betweens; they will never have more information other than your description and the description of their contact outside the gates. I understand you are being kept in Nivarra's chambers; you will have to be wary. Find a way to write down her activities daily; you must figure out a way to meet the contact behind the kitchens, where the servants quarters are located. They will be instructed to wait for you for only the last fifteen minutes before midnight." Biren smiled. "You are resourceful, powerful mage. I have faith that you won't let us down."

"Well, glad to see I am worth a pretty copper piece then. At least I can take that knowledge to my grave." Sand listened carefully as Dornan laid out the details of his contact. "I think I can manage something on most nights. I don't know if I'll be able to report every night, I pray you understand that Nivarra occasionally has...ah...other plans for me at night which may make me slightly indisposed." Even has he said it delicately, he felt a bit of a blush rising in his cheeks even as he kept his eyes and posture business-like.

Biren narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "I suppose even having an informant on the inside is enough for me. Make it when you can." He smiled slightly. "When the 'lady' doesn't have other plans for you." Biren sat back. "Now...what's this you mentioned last night about a map?"

"Ah yes the map." Sand nodded slowly. He remembered what Nivarra had told him, the geas twitching inside him. "If it wasn't for that infernal map, I would be at home right now. Nasher had sent me to Luskan to retrieve a map from an artificer. Actually to be more precise, to retrieve the map from whomever the artificer gave the map to. What the map did I do not know; Nasher wasn't exactly forth coming with information when I saw him. It was almost like he didn't quite trust me!" Sand gave a bitter chuckle. "But things didn't exactly go according to plan. The artificer was murdered, the murderer and the map disappeared, all of Luskan was thrown into a chaos and I barely escaped." He grimaced and then said pointedly, "Well, actually, I _didn't_ escape. I'm here aren't I?"

Biren listened intently as Sand spoke of the map, his face furrowed. "Hmmm," he finally said. "Yes, there were descriptions of the couple they suspected of murdering the artificer." He eyed the wizard momentarily. "And you know nothing of what the map does? I find it hard to believe Lord Nasher sent a spy on a dangerous mission without detailing it to you."

Sand shrugged, "All Nasher told me was that the map would be blank. It would take an incantation to reveal what was on it. Very useful details, as usual, from my lord and protector." It surprised him how easily the lie came; the _Fleeting Fame _spell must have still been in effect.

Biren tapped a finger against his bearded chin. "And as for Neverwinter...there's the matter of Torio Claven, of course." He smirked slightly. "Your _other_ lover. Tell me, how did you manage to get her away? 'Gone' as you put it...into thin air, perhaps?"

Sand's hands clenched involuntarily on the armrest of the chair at the mention of Torio, his heart beating quickly. "I spelled her away to another Plane. So yes, literally gone, disappeared into thin air." He looked at Biren, a little sadly, but said truthfully, "I don't know where she is now. I just commanded the spell to send her someplace safe."

Biren made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Pity. That woman had more Hosttower secrets up her sleeve...or should I say up her skirt...than most agents for the city have had in a long time." He sighed, rubbing the front of his face. "What a bargaining chip she would have made." He chuckled. "Not that a powerful elven mage from Neverwinter is a bad toss."

He stood, moving to a far cabinet against the wall. "Anything to drink for you, wizard?" He pulled an elegantly curved decanter from the cabinet and began pouring. "Tell me about this war to the south, this war of Shadows. We hear rumors about these new Captains; awfully young to be rising in the ranks of Neverwinters army, aren't they? And awarded Knighthood for their efforts?" He swirled the liquid in his glass, not turning around. "What's so special about them?"

It took quite a bit of Sand's willpower not to throw a _Magic Missile _in Biren's face for his comments about Torio. Yes, he knew what kind of past she had had, and yes she was gone now and couldn't hear it and yes she would probably also be the first to admit to her feminine tactics but by the gods, did it rub him the wrong way.

He really had to stop thinking about Torio.

Thankfully, Biren had moved away from the table. "A red wine, please." Sand realized it was still quite early in the morning but stressful situations called for wine. He waited until Biren had handed him a glass before continuing, "Nothing particularly special. Just a sheer stubbornness to survive, a hardy, backwater toughness, plenty of luck and a Keep full of the strangest denizens to aid them."

Sand took a sip of the wine. Not terrible, but not as good as the vintage from the other night. Sand realized that if he revealed the true nature of the shard inside Meaghan's chest, he would be putting her in danger from Luskan as well. "Consider for a moment, that their rise may not necessarily be due to skill but for political gain. Nasher needs heroes, somebody whose banner the soldiers will flock to. They are young, attractive, skilled and most importantly, eager. Fresh faces, fresh blood. Something to invigorate the people to rally behind Neverwinter. They have risen far only because they haven't died. Yet."

Sand tapped his fingers on his glass and then continued, "Not to be melodramatic, friend, but the Shadows grow every day. The undead armies amass in greater numbers. The lands once populated by ancient Illefarn will all fall to the Guardian if the shadows cannot be stopped." He gave Biren a look. "I will tell you now, it's not easy trading and bartering with ghouls and zombies. They tend to only want to kill you. Bad business all around. Pity they don't understand the value of coin."

Biren moved back to their seats, handing Sand a small glass of wine. "Ha! Business will never be bad for the Red Dragon; Theona's spread the trade routes so far that the fall of one city..even a handful of cities...won't send us into the gutter." He took a drink of his glass, swirling the rich brown liquid around as he swallowed. "Although you have a point; despite the tensions between Luskan and Neverwinter the trade has still flourished. Money sometimes talks peace better than the peace-mongerers do." He shook his head. "But the Hosttower will never see it that way; a chance to fell Nasher and the entire host of Neverwinter without lifting a finger? You can understand their interest in these young Captains."

The old mercenary leaned an elbow on his chair, his face hardened. "There's something you're not telling me, wizard. The gods know I agree that Neverwinter tends to rely on pink-skinned young heroes entirely too often in their defense tactics, but Lord Nasher is no fool." He narrowed his eyes. "A powerful mage like you, wizard...he should have you at the forefront of his army, if the threat to the south is as you say. Instead he risks you in Luskan while the green young adventurers hold his Keep?"

The man sat down, leaning over the table; but instead of the easy camaraderie he had displayed earlier when joined with Sand under the common banner of subterfuge, his eyes were now burning with a quiet, dangerous fire. "Do not cross me, wizard. I am a civilized man, as are you; we do not sully ourselves if we can help it. But you had better tell me everything."

Sand's eyes flashed, "As much as it pains me to say this but to Nasher I am expendable. He has an entire tower full of mages who serve him, quite willingly, I might add. My service to him has never been so... voluntary. My past in Luskan, which the former Ambassador had so _ingratiatingly_ pointed out during the trial, is a thorn in his side, a dirty secret, that Neverwinter would have to rely on a former Luskan. You are correct; Nasher is no fool. That is why I am here and they are...well...there."

He took an angry swallow of the wine. "And the Knight Captains, while young, have gone through enough hardship to embitter even the most strengthened of veterans." His mind went back to the fight at the safehouse with Torio, when he argued nearly the same thing. "Youth does not belie experience. And they have experience by the barrelfull."

Biren stared at Sand for a long moment, still as a statue. The man's polished, ornamental armor creaked slightly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled, his eyes never leaving Sand's face.

He took a drink from his glass, swallowed, and said, "You're still holding out on me." He tapped his finger against the glass. "I admire that in a man. You were a good choice for a spy; let's hope you can keep as tight a mouth around Nivarra." He said, almost offhandedly before draining the rest of his glass. "I could mention to her that the geas seems to not have latched on as tightly as it could have..." his eyes glittered as he set the empty glass down. "Or I could keep it to myself. How free you are with your information tonight when you meet my contact will determine how closemouthed I am, myself." He winked at Sand in an almost friendly way, and stood. "I believe we are finished for now, wizard. I will make a visit this afternoon; if all goes well, the Hosttower will see Lord Dornan tonight to discuss his new position within their dubious fold." He nodded. "Good luck."

As he opened the door, the guard on the other side of it snapped to attention; as Biren turned and disappeared around the corner, the guard turned and intoned sharply, "Follow me."

Sand stood shakily. He had somehow survived that ordeal mostly intact. He finished his wine and then followed the clanking guard down the hallway, trying to memorize the layout of the mansion. They were headed to a portion of the mansion Sand hadn't been in yet and without warning, the guard suddenly stopped and knocked on a door.

Sand heard Dornan's voice call out, "Enter." He carefully opened the door and stepped into a small study, what could only be Dornan's private study. The guard was dismissed and Sand closed the door. He stood before the lord, his blue eyes taking in the room and the man. The room was meticulously organized, accounting ledgers organized by name and date lining the bookshelves. Dornan himself was an older human, his blond hair streaked with gray. He was thin, as if the years and the stresses of living in Luskan had worn away at his rounder edges.

Sand gave him a small bow. "My lord?"

Dornan did not offer a seat to Sand. He left the elf standing as he seated himself behind his desk, his eyes roving over what appeared to be a sheet of parchment on his desk. "My daughter tells me that you quite adeptly brewed some potions for her yesterday. Up until that time she herself has been in charge of the potion making in this household; her skills are inept at best." Dornan's eyes regarded Sand coolly. "I have a list here of potions that I need brewed on a weekly basis; most of them have been far too complicated for Nivarra to even attempt, much less do so successfully." His lip curled slightly in contempt.

"You will be allowed daily access to our stores and larders, provided one of my household, a servant or guard, or Nivarra herself is with you. We keep a full accounting of ingredients; if anything goes missing, I will take it out of your hide." He arched a brow. "If you abuse this privilege, I will take it out of your hide. My daughter may be...more extreme in her measures when dealing with you, but I am perfectly straightforward." He held out the parchment towards Sand. "If there are changes to be made to this list at any time, they will be left with your spell list at night."

Dornan eyed the elf shrewdly, sitting back in his chair. "If you serve me well in this, more privileges will be afforded to you. I am no fool; I will reward good behavior." His voice indicated what he would do in the case of bad behavior. His hand gestured towards the door. "You are dismissed. Return to my daughter; and do not forget this list."


	11. Chapter 11

**Volume 3, Chapter 11 – Torio: Armored  
**

Dahras watched Torio in shock as she threw herself down into the grass, crying with an intensity that hurt his insides. The other guardinals were looking over at her in alarm and Dahras shook his head lightly, motioning for them to leave her be.

He had never experienced such evil before. The voice had been chilling, filling him with strange feelings of fear, and promise and power... The lupinal shuddered. And what had the voice said about Torio? She knew that voice. She had - had she worked for the man behind that voice? Was that the blackness that followed her?

Dahras hesitated. A part of him wanted to leave her to her misery in the grass, this evil woman who probably deserved nothing less than an unfriendly escort to the Outlands. But as he stared down at her, at her shaking shoulders and her voice full of agonized pain, his heart broke. _She had loved the elf._

Bending down, he quickly scooped her up in his strong arms. "Shh Torio, let's get you back to your tent." With rapid strides, he moved through the crowds that magically parted for him until he found Torio's tent. He entered it, still holding her and then sat on the large bed, cradling her while she cried.

Torio vaguely registered that they were moving. As her tent flap closed behind them, her mind attempted to give her a little shake; _look at you! You're supposed to be helping these creatures, what are they going to think when they see you sobbing madly like some infant?_

"Oh gods." She inhaled raggedly, wiping her hands across her face, her shoulders still shaking from the urge to sob until her entire body was spent. "I apologize," She said, after a moment. "That was..." Embarrassing? Unseemly? _ Completely unstoppable…_

_Garius_. By the gods, his power must be immense; and his link to her still strong, if he could find her across planes. And he knew what was happening to Sand…

_You mean what Sand is partaking in?_

Dahras still cradled her where he sat on her bed, and even as she pressed herself to him, there was no comfort to be had from the warm, furred presence holding her. Her body felt immeasurably cold. "The...wizard," she said haltingly. "The story I told you last evening. I was...once...his servant." She swallowed. "That was his voice, in that boat."

Dahras held her tightly to him, stroking her hair gently. "Do not apologize, Torio. You should never have to apologize for letting your heart out. I...I am sure Sand still thinks of you even if he has moved on. I am sure he believes you are safe and happy here and that is the only reason why he has..."

He fell silent for a moment before continuing. "And you are no longer this wizard's servant? He must be very powerful indeed if he can find you here. He must be tapping directly into the Weave..." The lupinal gave her a hug. "We will protect you from him. He will find his evil is nothing more than a small black smudge here! Don't go back to Toril then; stay with us."

Torio sighed. "He has the power of Illefarn behind him now; I can't even begin to fathom what he's capable of." She fell silent for a moment, her stomach churning sickeningly. All this trouble...she was struggling through a war between guardinals and devils to return to Toril, while Sand was...

Dahras' words were a small comfort. She knew Luskan better than anybody; if Sand were still alive it would be only a matter of time before someone had staked a claim to him. And at least now she knew he was alive.

But what if he enjoyed where he was at? The seer had said that the elf was embracing his new mistress, his new life; Luskan had much to offer a wizard of even the remotest power, and Sand was wily enough to work those situations to his advantage. What if she left this plane...this beautiful, unerringly good plane...only to return and find that he'd forgotten her? That he no longer wanted her?

She rubbed her face tiredly, and slipped her arm around the lupinal, hugging him in an uncharacteristic gesture of fondness. "Thank you, for your protection. And your help." She sighed. "I suppose I'll at least think about staying, now. If he...if Sand is occupied _elsewhere _then my reasons for returning to Toril are quite limited in number."

Dahras patted her head again. "I'm glad you're at least considering staying now. You're a great friend to us. And you really would like it here. There's so much to do; anything you want to do, somebody's probably doing it! Are...are you going to be all right?"

Torio scooted back onto the bed, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes momentarily. "Yes," she said. "I'll be fine, Dahras...why don't you go celebrate with the others?" She forced her mouth into a smile. "I think I'll just rest for a bit. I'm a little tired."

Dahras stood from the bed and said to Torio, "If you need anything, you know the entire tribe...the entire camp! will help you." He turned to exit from the tent and then tossed her his new magical ball. "If you...can't sleep."

Torio waited until the lupinal was gone before laying back against her bed; she fingered the ball in her hands lightly, her heart thrumming painfully in her chest. They acted as if they would accept her, here; she could make a new start, and even if Garius could reach her, Dahras had said they could keep her safe.

Images of Sand, writhing with a strange lover, someone else touching his body, kissing him, riding against him...she slammed her eyes shut, pushing them from her mind as the grief and rage rose in her chest, threatening to drive her mad. It was beyond the pinpricks of jealousy she had felt at the party when Gweynn had shown a marked interest in Sand. It consumed her, raged along her veins until she was shaking with it, her fingers trembling as they toyed with Dahras' ball. Returning would mean leaving behind fantastical, amazing creatures that wanted her here, for a world where most people who knew her name hated her for it; returning to servitude and subterfuge, lies and trickery and playing a never ending game of survival. She watched the light play off her bracelet, almost forgotten in the greater marvels that surrounded her. Sand was the only thing that would tie her to that world willingly.

Torio would forget him, in time. She was already having trouble in the mornings when she woke up, not remember exactly what she was trying to do...only that it was urgent, that she needed to do it badly. Every morning the thoughts were longer in coming to her, and she realized that if she chose to stay, every name, place, memory she had of Toril would fade into the back of her mind. But that urgent feeling...that feeling that there was something, _something _she needed to do, somewhere she needed to be, would always be there every morning. Even if she forgot Sand eventually, she would know that something was missing; and she would never know what it was.

_Well, I have to know. _Even if it meant the rest of her life spent wandering Toril, hiding from those who would destroy her for her past and constantly running from those who would exploit her future, at least she would know if he still wanted her.._.if he still loves you. _

She tossed the ball into the air experimentally as she lay back on the bed, her thoughts buzzing dully through her head, the noise from the camp outside trickling in through the thin tent walls.

* * *

The noises of the chattering creatures faded away as the moon rose higher in the sky. One by one, additional torchlights were extinguished; only the low murmuring voices of those patrolling could be heard, with the occasional snuffling from an equinal. And as surely as the day before, the moon finished her travels across the sky and the sun began his, peaking up from the horizon and bathing the lush green field in a golden light.

Brandobras trotted up to Torio's tent just as the majority of the creatures were stirring from theirs. He had heard about what had happened the night before; or at least rumors. The encampment was sympathetic though there were stirrings of wariness.

_"...did you feel the great evil..."_

_  
"...I heard she was an evil mage back on..."_

_"...no no, she loves a mage..."_

_  
"...Lucan trusts her..."_

_"...I want to know what Prince Talisid says first..."_

_"...she's here to help, that's all I need to know..."_

The halfling called through the flap, "Torio, dear? I have some lovely breakfast for you..."

Torio awoke with a start, Brandobras' voice floating through the fabric across the entryway. She muttered something akin to "Mmmnnfsnni..." and stumbled off of the bed; her thoughts were scattered, disjointed as she pushed open the flap, rubbing her eyes.

"Come in," she said blearily. The halfling was carrying a plate of steaming food, and she could see over his shoulder where the mess line was set up, creatures from all over the camp gathering and preparing to eat. She took the food gratefully. "Have you eaten already? What is the word on the two companions we're waiting for?" She sat on the edge of the bed, digging in ravenously; she still felt drained, empty, from the day before, but she filled the void beneath her chest for the moment with food.

Brandobras took a seat in front of her, on the ground, patting his belly. "Never fear, Torio, a halfling has always eaten. Except when he has not!" He leaned back, saying, "Duke Windheir shall be here by the afternoon; Lord Rhanok is expected later than that." He pulled a pipe from his pocket and began blowing translucent bubbles into the air. "Everybody is quite excited. The Five Companions haven't been united under a common banner in quite a long time. You are witnessing a piece of Elysian history in the making. There's even rumors that Prince Talisid will lead the charge himself. The mustevals have been busy with their reports, everyone is preparing their weapons and armor for battle. You would think we fight this afternoon instead of...well..._later_."

Torio watched the bubbles float through the air as she swallowed a mouthful of food. She flicked out a finger, popping one of the bubbles floating too close to her head, and wrinkled her nose as the sticky substance sprayed gently down, misting her face. She rubbed her cheeks against her sleeve, saying dryly, "I suppose it's an _honor _to be a part of Elysian history, then; if we're going to die, why not everyone die together?" _Now _that _was something Sand would say_. She ate another forkful, and then stood, holding her hand down to the halfling to help him up. "I suppose I could speak to the mustevals you claim are bringing in reports; would you like to come with me?" She smiled slightly. "Or do you have weapons and armor to prepare as well?"

"Well - we don't expect the devilish armies to attack within the next two or three days, that much is for certain." Brandobras gave her a laugh at her comment about dying together. "Now that is a very...Prime Material plane thing to say, Torio." They exited the tent together and were greeted with a scene of organized chaos. It seemed the encampment size had nearly doubled sometime between the time Torio went to sleep and now.

Brandobras continued blowing bubbles, doing his best at looking wise and dignified. "Well - I can certainly go with you if you wish to speak to the mustevals. Not all of them speak Common; I can translate the Celestial for you. And don't you joke about weapons and armors, missy. We're all getting weapons and armor, even you." He began moving towards a small semi-circle of tents where the mustevals were squeaking and darting around. They looked up as Torio approached, waving their paws at her. Immediately, a pair ran up to her with a stack of parchments, squeaking excitedly. Brandobras translated, "From the avoral scouts along the borders, just came in a few minutes ago."

Torio staggered slightly under the weight of the parchments, but quickly sat down, spreading them out on the short, clipped grass beneath her. Some of the reports were in Celestial..."Brandobras! Translate these?" She pushed the incomprehensible parchments towards the halfling, and began pouring over the ones she could understand...

_...quiet on the borders, no sign of activity whatsoever..._

_...possible attack from within Elysium? Least suspected way of..._

_...an eye on the cities, most vulnerable to attack with the armies pulled out into the countryside..._

_...no sign of the hostages, and we lost one more on last evening's sweep of the northern River..._

Torio pursed her lips, her expression darkened. Nomadic battle tactics would be slightly more complicated if the devils decided to take on a city instead of attack the army proper. Was this what they were being distracted from?

She glanced at the halfling. "Any luck with those?"

Brandobras was muttering quietly to himself. "Oh yes yes...just a moment...my Celestial is a little rough...but it seems as though there are concerns about us collecting all in one location like at this encampment and there are suggestions of spreading us out into a few, larger units so that no matter where they attack from, we are never more than half a days walk or boat ride..." He bent over a few more pieces of paper. "Suggestions about increasing the number of avoral scouts, the usual about warning the citizens and the River merchants to be cautious..."

He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes. "What do you make of this? What will you advise the War Council tonight?"

Torio rubbed her hand across her face, shutting her eyes and frowning. "The large encampment will most definitely need to be broken up once the plans are made. Gathered together like this it would only take one strong battle to wipe out everyone." She ran a hand through her short hair, vaguely remember the days when she would brush it meticulously until it shone and fell around her face smoothly, fastidious about her appearance. She dreaded what she would see now if faced with a mirror. _A haggard woman? A tired sinner? A discarded lover..._

_Stop thinking like that, Torio._ Luskan is Luskan.

_And look how easily you embraced it in the end, yourself._

She let out an exasperated breath, blowing the foremost strands of hair away from her face. "I'm not sure," she said honestly. "I'll have to think on it, maybe read over other reports. There's no easy answer to this; in the end I suppose we'll just have to be flexible. And prepared."

Brandobras tucked his pieces of parchment in with hers. "Yes; I suppose in the end that's all we can do." He stood, stretching his back. "Well, I'm about ready for a second breakfast. Care to join me? If not, I know Chaksa has some things for you."

Torio snorted at him, swatting at him with half-hearted playfulness. "Heavens forbid I interfere with second breakfast," she said sourly, but she chuckled. "Go! I'll find Chaksa, you veritable black hole." She gathered up the reports and handed them back to the mustevals before wandering off through the camp, trying to catch sight of where the lupinals had set up.

She saw the flash of furred muzzles between tents, and soon dodged her way past stakes and ropes, catching sight of a pair of yellow eyes. "Chaksa," she said in greeting, wondering belatedly if Dahras had informed her of her slight episode the day before.

The matron of the pack looked up. "Ah Torio! I am so glad to see you. Come." She gestured and led them towards the back of the encampment. "Our armorers require your measurements for your armor. Don't worry, it will be so light it'll be like you're wearing your regular clothes."

An older lupinal gestured to Torio to raise her arms. "Rather glad that you're smaller and not bigger than the armor. Easier to cut away pieces of leather than it is to tack it on. Got this from a half-elf a few tents over." He lifted a set of simple leather armor, glossy with purple and gold runes and tucked it around her body, tightening straps and showing her how to manage. "Pull this one first...then clip this here...you want this tighter..." until Torio was wearing a slightly oversized outfit. The lupinal tapped his teeth absentmindedly. "I can make some adjustments for you, make it fit better. But...what do you think? It'll protect you from elemental damage."

It felt awkward and cumbersome; she could feel the boiled leather constricting her flesh, even though it fell too long in some places and bunched uncomfortably in others. But, the image of her standing on a battlefield wearing only trews and a tunic..."It's acceptable," she said, twisting and bending slightly to get the feel of it. "I'm no expert on armor; I'll have to bow to your better..._much better_...judgement on this." She looked down at herself, momentarily awed; where were the elaborate gowns, the heeled slippers, the delicate jewelry now?

Surprisingly, she found herself wondering what Lorne would think, of all people. The brutish bastard was dead and gone, but she was strangely curious to hear what he would have had to say about Garius' Luskan courtesan, and avoider of all things related to senseless violence, striding around bedecked in magic armor.

"It will suit me fine," she said quietly.

Chaksa nodded approvingly. "Once we have fitted it more appropriately for you, you should learn to wear it well, practice walking and moving with it so that it does not hinder you on the battlefield. Though..." she added thoughtfully, "You will certainly not be on the frontlines. In fact, we all pray you don't actually have to do any fighting and will be organizing troop movement and tactics. And tending to the wounded. The minute you must wade into battle, human, will indicate desperate times for us indeed." She gave a warm laugh, her snout wrinkling up.

The lupinal armorer helped Torio out of her armor before pointing to a long series of golden tents. "The leonals have the best weapons though many will likely be too large for you. The musteval weapons may be better suited for you; I am not sure how you fight, Torio. I certainly hope it's not barehanded like the equinals!"

Torio snorted. "Barehanded?" She chuckled, holding her small hand up for inspection. "Ah, my friend...you mean you wouldn't run in terror when faced with these on the battlefield?" She stepped out of the last bit of armor, rubbing her ribs slightly where the leather had bunched against her skin. "I and proficient enough with a small blade, I suppose. And functional with a staff." She shrugged a little helplessly. "Some others I know how to hold properly, but I've no experience in them." She couldn't help but smirking towards Chaksa. "So I deeply appreciate keeping me away from the heat of the battle."

Torio thanked the lupinal armorer, and moved towards the tent flap. "I'll try the mustevals; but I will let any equinal I know, sir armorer, of your admiration for their battle tactics." She smiled at him slightly, her voice dry. "How long will it take to adjust the armor? Should I come back this evening?"

The armorer looked up from studying the armor. "Definitely come back this evening. You should wear the armor to the War Council that's being planned tonight. It would be most appropriate, I think. A chance to show off some lupinal craftmanship as well!"

Chaksa began guiding Torio towards the musteval weaponsmith, saying with a motherly caution, "You...seem to be holding well, considering. I am very sorry, Torio, to hear the news. But you have the knowledge that he is alive. My own mate was killed many years ago; I have not found his soul to be reunited with it yet."

Torio glanced at the lupinal from the corner of her eye as they walked, her face hardening slightly. "The place that he's in...that Sand's in...I know it very well. It's a city where anything; money, merchandise, people, sex, love, hate, magic, life...death...all of it can be bartered for and traded at the drop of a hat." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "And the source of the _news _has been known to twist truths around until they're indistinguishable from lies." They passed a small group of equinals that stared at them as they walked by.

Her heart sat heavily in her chest as she fell silent for a moment. _But the seer had said that Sand embraces his new mistress._..the sickening, hot, furious feeling filled her once again, and she shook her head, asking gently, "Your mate died here, then? Where would his soul go, if you could be reunited with him?"

They stood now before a row of tiny, white tents. A small pinkish white musteval ran up to them, bounding across the small patch of grass. Her pink eyes glittered in the sunlight as her nose twitched, the whiskers moving rapidly in the air. "Outsider! Lady Chaksa! Welcome to musteval weapons area! Look freely!"

Chaksa picked up an elegantly curved kukri, testing the weight and balance in her hand before replying. "My mate was killed in a battle in the Beastlands, against demons. I fear his soul wanders those lands, lost." She looked sad for a moment and then brightened up, looking at Torio. "Well if this source twists truths, perhaps then Sand has not taken a new lover. Perhaps its like...poetry, where one word can mean another? Seers are never known to speak frankly either."

Torio touched the hilt of a wicked looking shortsword; the metal was so highly polished she could see her own reflection, her gray, hollowed, burning eyes staring back at her along a sharpened steel edge. "Perhaps it is," she acquiesced, thinking of the elven poetry she had poured over. _A'melamin..._

It hurt to think of Sand reciting poetry even for a moment, and she cleared her tightening throat, determined not to show weakness...it was hard enough when one was short, fleshy, armorless and without snapping jaws, tearing teeth, sharp claws or glorious wings. _Not only am I soft and human, but now I'm maudlin as well..._

"Perhaps your mate is trying to find his way back?" she suggested quietly, picking up the sword and examining the edge in the sunlight. "With all these portals opening, who knows, Chaksa." She watched the lupinal covertly for a moment. Torio had no illusions about her ability (or lack thereof) to comfort others, but she felt a strange, tugging kinship with this utterly alien creature.

She smiled wryly. "I've been told stories about a prismatic dragon on my world, that allows lovers to find each other in the afterlife, never knowing separation." She chuckled lightly. "More likely a fable than not, but if you've ever a mind to, you could find her, and ask." Torio sighed. "Perhaps I'll even go with you."

The lupinal smiled down at the human, who was struggling so hard to be supportive. "I can only trust that where ever he is and whatever he is doing, he is doing a greater good and the gods will one day lead us together again. They must have a reason for this separation." She put the kukri back down. "Your story of the dragon is very beautiful. If it ever comes to that...Torio...I will journey with you. For now, let us hold hope in our hearts." She picked up a thin rapier and jabbed it into the air, the blade making a sharp wooshing noise. She turned to the musteval, "Your weapons here are superb. My compliments."

Torio smiled slightly in amusement as she caught the musteval's whiskers twitching pleased at Chaksa's comment, her own fingers dancing lightly over numerous blades set out for display. She absently listened to the musteval and Chaksa speak quietly over a few weapons, making her way around the displays. _ Beautiful story, yes_...but it wasn't her story. It belonged to a few sailors on a ship that was probably lying on the bottom of the Sea of Swords by now.

She lifted the hilt of one elongated dagger; the blade ran almost twelve inches long, and it curved in a wavy pattern; the edges were immaculately sharp, and for a moment she stared in awe. "How is that even possible?" She asked.

The musteval was in front of her almost instantly. "They sharpen the steel in layers," she said, her pink eyes gleaming at her amiably. "It's called a kris. The waves in the blade are called _luks_; they maximize the size of the wounds caused by such a small weapon, while still maintaining the balance and weight." The musteval winked. "For those of us who don't have great hulking muscles to throw around."

Torio's eyes followed the sinuous curves of the blade. The metal gleamed and rippled like water, and unlike the other weapons, her reflection was nowhere to be seen. She looked up at Chaksa, her fingers touching the hilt lightly. "I think I found what I needed."

The rest of the day was spent in a flurry of activity. Dahras had insisted upon training with Torio in how to wield her weapons; Brandobras would regularly bring her updates on what the musteval scouts were reporting. As the afternoon wore on, suddenly the sunlight was blocked out by large shadows. The entire encampment looked up - Duke Windheir and the avoral army were here. By dinner, the marching cervidal footsoldiers had swelled their ranks; Lord Rhanok nearly immediately went into the large central tents with the other companions.

Nearly 300 creatures, large and small, gathered in the defence of Elysium.


	12. Chapter 12

**Volume 3, Chapter 14 – Sand: Spinning Tales**

Sand took the list from Dornan and left the room swiftly. A guard was already there to escort him back to Nivarra's room and Sand quickly stopped him, "Actually, bring me to where the stocks for the spell ingredients are kept." He needed to see more of the mansion and hopefully find the kitchen and servants' quarters. The guard hesitated and Sand prodded him, "Come on. You know Lord Dornan has given me permission as I am now the resident alchemist. Or would you rather explain to Nivarra that her slave is unable to complete his tasks because he was not able to get his supplies?"

That seemed to convince the guard and he turned the other way, leading Sand to a narrow servants door and down two flights of stairs, until they reached a narrow hallway lined with small doors. An elderly serving man approached, "Ah wizard, was expecting you later rather than sooner, but they like working you hard and working you promptly eh?"

Sand gave him a smile, inwardly rejoicing at meeting a servant, "All masters seem to expect that of their servants. Do I get the ingredients myself or do you come with me? And I'm afraid I didn't catch your name..."

The man shook his head, the long wispy strands of white hair flying, "Nay, I go with you and mark down everything you take. You only take what you're supposed to, hear? Now let's see that list of yours...Eh, the name's Torras by the way, please to be making your acquaintance." He took the parchment from Sand and then began moving down the hall, unlocking a door and leading them both inside. The guard remained outside. "Troll bones...vampires' blood..."

Sand scanned the shelves, taking in the vast stockpiles of every component and ingredient imaginable. His academic side, not immediately concerned with self-preservation, was mentally salivating. His more practical side said, "Have you worked here long?"

Torras nodded, "Aye, I'm one of the lucky ones in Master Dornan's care. A roof and honest employment all in one household."

Sand nodded, "Yes, that is a rather good bargain. It is a lovely place, I must admit. Many servants too; do you all live here?"

Torras shook his head, as he handed Sand a pouch of some wraith dust. "Nay, just a handful of us. Servants' quarters aren't big enough for the number of staff required to keep this place running on a daily basis."

Sand pondered how he could find out where the kitchen and the servants quarters were without coming out and directly asking Torras, which would be suspicious. "How do the rules here work, in terms of food? Is Lord Dornan as strict about food as he is ingredients? Can I just go to the kitchen and get things to eat?"

The old man handed him another pouch. "Eh, rules for you, mage may be different since you're Nivarra's. The girl has her own ideas, I'm sure. But if the lord give you kitchen privileges, just come down and the cook will give you food."

Sand silently congratulated himself. "Thank you. Where would the kitchens be?"

Torras didn't even bat an eye. "From the main dining hall, you go through the double set of doors to your left, down a small set of stairs. Can't miss it. You should be able to smell it!"

Sand gathered up the rest of the supplies, "Well thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you, friend. I shall see you tomorrow." He turned and followed the guard back to Nivarra's room.

Nivarra looked up as she heard the door to the laboratory open, and slammed the tome shut, slipping it underneath her vanity for the moment. "Slave!" She called.

When Sand entered she approached him, her voice eager. "What happened? What did he ask you? The servants said that he left for the Hosttower not long ago. Tell me everything, slave."

"Of course mistress." Sand politely gestured to the two chairs, waiting until she had seated herself before joining. "He asked about the names of the spies, which I provided. He asked about the map and my involvement. Of course I told him nothing of importance, merely that I was sent here by Nasher and failed." Sand closed his eyes, recalling the conversation. "Ah...he asked about Torio and where she was and I answered that. And he asked about the Knight Captains of Crossroad Keep - how it was that they were so young and had risen to such prominence. And I answered that one as well, to the best of my knowledge."

Nivarra fingered her skirt absently, mulling over Sand's words as he spoke. "Yes, the Knight-Captains would be of great importance to the Hosttower; even information on them alone might garner us favor. Still...it is well that the geas was able to keep you from speaking on the map; although the old dog must suspect something, he always does. Sniffing and hunting around until he has all his cards in play..." Her voice was filled with so much loathing that even her expression was distasteful.

The geas was churning inside him, threatening to force him to tell Nivarra about his agreement to spy on her. He took a deep steadying breath, ignoring the thick, nauseating feeling that was slowly building. "He asked what I thought about you."

She glanced at Sand, her eyebrows moving up a fraction. "And he asked you about me?" Instead of sounding flattered, her voice grew a fraction colder. She reached forward, gripping his shoulder, her face pressing close to his. "And what did you say?"

Sand met her hazel eyes squarely, "I told him that you were like every other woman from Luskan. Ambitious and smart. Pretty and cruel. That...that I respect you but I don't love you." He couldn't keep the small smile off his face. "Then I asked him if he was looking for a wife."

Nivarra snorted derisively, releasing him, but her eyes glittered with a pleased light. "I'm sure that pleased him infinitely." She stood, smoothing her skirts absently. "I have some business to attend to; I assume my father gave you a task to accomplish?" She moved to her mirror for a moment, touching a hand to her hair fussily before going to the wardrobe and pulling down a long cloak. "I will send a servant with some food for you; do not attempt to leave the room unless my father sends for you." She tied the cloak around her neck, giving him the once over, a sly smile curling her mouth. "I should be back after dinner. Warm the bedclothes, will you, slave?"

She turned and slipped out the door, the sound of her heels disappearing down the hallway.

Sand sighed in relief as she left. He didn't even realize how tense he felt around her until she left and all the prickly weight left his body, but now he had several hours to himself. He quickly went to her bureau, sliding it away from the hidden door and popping it open again. He scanned the books and notes and picked up what looked to be the first of the series.

Taking it back to the small laboratory, Sand began setting up his alchemical equipment again. He could read while he waited for the various potions to come to a boil; he often did it back at the Keep.

He was still reading a few hours later when there was a quiet knock at his door. Sand trotted over and opened it a crack, seeing a small half-elven boy who handed him a tray of food. Sand quickly and kindly thanked the boy and then closed the door before he could look inside and see the moved bureau and the hidden door that was ajar. Not wanting to risk have Nivarra return before he had stowed away the book again, Sand replaced it and the bureau before going to his meal - steamed greens, bread, some roasted meat. He helped himself to some of her wine, enjoying himself quietly for the first time in days.

It had been a productive day, in more ways than one. He had nearly half the potions for the week finished; the rest would have to wait until he got more supplies from Torras. The book had been particularly informative as well but he needed more time to digest that; he needed to read her notes and understand her progress. How was it that a seemingly inept mage of her mediocre ability was going to cast such a potent spell? Sand finished his food and then stretched, tiredly, in the middle of her room.

_Well - she had told him to warm her bedclothes..._

And her bed was much more comfortable than his own. Sand shrugged off his robes and boots, wearing only his simple trews and the undertunic and crawled into her bed. He imagined, for a moment, that he was waiting for Torio and then drifted off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The house was almost silent when Nivarra returned. Her cloak was removed from her shoulders by the doorman, who was doing his best to pretend he hadn't been sleeping at his post. She wasn't even in the mood to beat him; she was filled to the tips of her fingers with excitement, said fingers clutching a very slender vial to her bosom as she slipped through the halls of her home. _Her father's home._

She couldn't risk anyone knowing about this particular vial, not even the elf; he might have been capable of brewing it for her, had she asked it of him. One turn past the kitchen, and another, and then one more stretch of hall...she slipped into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft _click!_

A glance to the bed told her the elf was sleeping, between the covers. She gently pulled open a drawer in her vanity and wrapped the vial in a swathe of silk, pushing it towards the back of the drawer. She whispered the incantation to a simple lock spell and it shut with a smart _snicking_ noise.

It was all coming together, finally; after years of living under his heel, working drudging magics and unable to call a single complicated spell to her lips successfully. The tide-pulling moon shone in through one of her high ceiling windows, falling on the bed…moon and moon elf, both more powerful than she ever would be.

_Curse them both._

She peeled off her gown, pulling her hair down from her elaborate hairstyle, and slid into bed in her smallclothes, nudging Sand over irately. The sheets were lukewarm; one sleeve of his tunic was runched up, exposing a cool-skinned forearm, and she curled her lip wryly. _Some bedwarmer._

Nivarra slid next to him, yawning tiredly and slipping an arm around his waist. "Sleep well, slave," she whispered in his sharpened ear. "In the morning I expect a proper greeting." She shut her eyes, nuzzling against his neck, and drifted off, holding his cool body against hers.

* * *

_Mmm. Torio._

Sand shifted and curled up closer to the warm body, pressing his face against her shoulder and kissing it sleepily. She was back with him; a deep seated feeling of contentment settled over his mind and he breathed deeply.

_Mint._

His eyes opened immediately, a hollow icy feeling radiating from his heart outwards.

_Nivarra._

He turned his face to look at her. She was sleeping soundly, her whole body wrapped around his like a boa constrictor, squeezing him possessively, choking the life out of him. Sand carefully extracted himself from her grip and sat up. He peered out her window. The moon was only starting to reach its apogee in the sky; he still had time to make it to Biren's contact.

The geas gave a mighty protest and Sand clamped his hands over his mouth, fighting down the taste of bile that was rising in his throat. He quickly slipped from the bed, his feet making a muffled thump as he hit the floors. Turning back to Nivarra, he cast _Sleep_ on her and watched as she settled into a deeper slumber. Sand pulled on his robe as quietly as possible, dressing with a painstaking slowness to prevent too much ruffling of the fabric. Entering his own small chambers, he placed his writing supplies on the desk and cast _Mage Hand _on the quill. The last thing he needed was somebody to find the parchment and recognize his handwriting. He quietly dictated to the quill, moving his hands subtly as he guided the feather.

_"...left the premises shortly after I returned from my meeting. Did not return until well after sunset. No idea where she went or what she did."_

He folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket, pausing for a second to take a few steadily breaths as he began dry heaving. _Damn this geas._ He flicked his fingers and murmured a few arcane words as he cast _Ethereal Jaunt_; suddenly the material world around him became gray and misty as he became invisible and a part of the Ethereal Plane. He floated slowly through the walls, trying to orient himself a moment. He could see the guards lining the halls as he flittered silently past. He moved down the long hallway until he found the main dininghall. As Torras had said, there was a set of double doors, a hallway and then a short set of stairs down. Out of habit more than anything, Sand followed the stairs down instead of floating straight through until he saw a large kitchen completely filled with barrels, crates and food. Servants were talking and laughing together and Sand followed a pair that looked like they were about to head to sleep.

Sure enough, the entered a long and narrow room filled with small beds and trunks. Sand ducked back through the walls, surveying the area between the kitchen and the sleeping quarters. Where would his contact meet him? His eyes fell on a small, dark alcove where stack of broken crates and barrels were piled up carelessly and instantly knew that's where the contact would be at the designated time. Sand stepped back and leaned against the wall, nearly falling through it as he remembered belated he was still ethereal. Instead, he had to content himself with floating nearby and waiting, invisible.

"Good night, Fen! Hope ye get in tomorrow with the rest!"

Fen waved as she slipped out the kitchen, falling into the small group of servants hurrying towards the gates to be let back out into the city for the night. She glanced around quickly, smoothing down her short, greying dark hair, before casually slipping down a side hallway and disappearing into the shadows.

She crept along the hall, keeping her head ducked as the regular house servants passed her by on their way to their respective beds. The meeting place was before her, but...no one seemed to be there. She frowned worriedly as she slid against the wall, but hunkered down to wait, glancing up and down the hallway. They had told her right behind the kitchen...did she have the right place?

Sand watched the woman for a few minutes. She was definitely waiting for somebody; he quietly dispelled the _Ethereal Jaunt _spell and hissed, "Over here." He held out the piece of parchment, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Fen jumped when the elf dispelled the invisibility spell and suddenly appeared. She glanced over her shoulder down the hall, and then quickly reached out, snatching the parchment. "Good luck," she whispered, before turning and scurrying down the hallway, her muffled footsteps fading away.

Almost an instant later, a hand clamped down on Sand's shoulder. "Out late, are we, elf?" The guard spun him around, his face grim. "Come with me."

Sand struggled feebly in the taller human's grip. "Ah, just - looking for a midnight snack." His mind raced. Could he risk a disabling spell on the guard? Should he kill the guard? His eyes slid to the man now marching him resolutely down the hall. Short of the _Programmed Amnesia _spell (which would take much too long to cast even if he had it memorized), all spells he could cast would leave the guard with his memory of this encounter intact. So either he faced up to whatever and where ever the guard was taking him now or deal with it in the morning. Sand sighed and allowed the guard to take him away.

* * *

Nivarra awoke to a pounding on her bedroom door. The bed next to her was cool; Sand wasn't there. She yawned, stretched, and stood, walking to her door irritably. The elf probably slipped back to his bed...

...or not?

The guard was standing there, one hand firmly gripping Sand's shoulder. She could feel a cold, icy rage trickling through her veins as the guard shoved the elf through her door. "Caught him by the kitchens, milady."

"Thank you," she said sharply. "You may go."

The door closed. She stared at Sand, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. A part of her was almost smug; she knew servants, knew slaves. It didn't take long for them to test boundaries, to push limits and see how much they could get away with. Perhaps he felt that because they had shared a bed, she would soften with a woman's gentle emotions and let him run around as he pleased.

"Ambitious and smart," she said, her voice tight with anger. "Pretty and cruel, you said. And foolhardy, as well?" She stepped forward, and gripped Sand's long hair close to the scalp. She was not built strong, but the shorter elf was smaller than her, and she swung around, hurling with all her strength, slamming the elf into the small table in her foyer, where they had eaten dinner together merely two nights ago. The loud rap of his head against the wood, and the rattling of the table as it tilted wildly in result to the blow filled the silence of the room. She yanked back, bending over and pulling his head up next to hers by his hair. "Is this cruel enough for you, slave? Do I need to chain you to the wall by night? Do I need to carve the rules into your skin to make you understand them?" She gave his head a little shake. "What were you doing out? Tell me!"

Stars exploded before his eyes as she slammed him forward onto the table. He gasped painfully, his hands gripping the table before him, his blue eyes wide and a little wild.

_Think think think think._

_You're a lousy spy Sand._

He took a deep breath and replied, his voice strangled by his position, "Learning the layout of the mansion." He felt sick to his stomach as he half-lied to her and panted for breath, the sweat starting to bead along the back of his neck. His head was aching and he could barely see straight; but he could feel her hot breath along his skin. "Plotting my escape, _mistress_. Surely you think I can't be happy in captivity?"

Nivarra flung him away from her, breathing hard. "_Worthless_, stupid slave! There _is_ no escape for you!" She stood over him, her eyes dark with rage and glittering coldly; she took a long, indrawn breath, her face schooling into a mask of calm. "You wizards think you know everything," she said. "That you can _control_ everything. In case you haven't notice, wizard, you are under _my_ control." Her eyes were brutally cold. "Cross me again, and I promise you, you will wish that my father sold you to Inther Blackfeather before you ever had to misfortune to lay eyes on me."

She stared down at him for a moment, and then her voice became deceptively soft, almost sweet. "Oh look at you, little slave...have I mistreated you so badly that you want to leave me so soon?" She gave him a firm kick, an edge to the gleam in her eyes. "Get in the bed. The next time you are caught outside of these chambers without my express permission, I will have you whipped within an inch of your life."

Her foot, mercifully, was bare as the kick caught him across the chest. And thankfully she had believed his lie. He was going to have to come up with a better way of delivering messages to Biren. He stood up, teetered from the pounding pain inside his head, and winced when the muscles of his torso screamed in protest. He hobbled over to her bed, holding his hand to his side. He gingerly pulled off his robes, every movement sending sharp, shooting pains through him until he was once against dressed in his underclothes.

He stared at the bed distastefully but then said softly, "I still have to go over your father's list of spells, mistress. Perhaps...I could join you in about an hour?"

Nivarra glanced at him coldly as she slid back underneath her blankets. "Perhaps you should have spent your time memorizing his spells instead of planning your escape," she said evenly. "No...no my slave, I think you should come here, where I can keep an eye on you." She smiled at him, no trace of warmth in the gesture. "Simply explain to my father why you've failed to meet his demands when you see him tomorrow."

Sand cringed inwardly. He had suspected she would do as much, punishing him through her father. And Sand wasn't certain who he was more afraid of, how wielded more power at this point - Nivarra or her father. He knelt by the bed, crawling forward subserviently until his face was near hers. He would play into her power games. "All right, dear girl, you've made your point. I am very sorry for trying to escape. But just half an hour is all I need. How can I make it up to you and your...kindness?"

Nivarra arched a brow at him. She knew he was no fool; if he had been willing to brave the hallways and fight the geas, he was not nearly as subservient as the act he was putting on. She stretched languidly against the bed. "I might reconsider," she said coyly. "If you use that tongue of yours for something _other_ than lying to my face."

Sand stopped breathing for a moment. Was this how Torio felt? Every person in power over her, being able to command sexual favors from her because it meant life or death, success or failure? Sand leaned forward, pressing his mouth limply to Nivarra's, sliding his tongue between her lips. Was this what Torio's life had been like? Using her body for mere survival when beneath lurked a mind that could think around lords and leaders, and a tongue that could talk circles around diplomats and envoys. He used his own tongue now to massage hers, forcing himself to move as slowly and sensually as his revulsion would allow.

He suddenly felt deeply sorry for every comment and joke he had made about her past and her tactics, even the comment made at the trial. If he could just see her one last time, he would apologize.

Sand pulled back from Nivarra, his fingers resting lightly on the sheets covering her body and gave her a questioning look.

Nivarra felt her anger ebb slightly as Sand kissed her; _best not make him resent you too terribly, girl._ And there were other ways to ascertain his cooperation; she knew she would speak to her father tomorrow, since such an act might cripple his...and her...plans momentarily, but it might be worth it. The elf obviously still wasn't broken yet; and a slave that still had some hope for escape was no slave at all.

And there was such pleasure to be taken in the breaking...

She pulled apart the ribbon that held her thin shift together, returning his look. "Asking permission now, are we, slave? I'm sure I made myself perfectly clear." The shift fell away from her body, and she sat up slightly, leaning back against the pillows propped on the headrest. One hand pressed over Sand's, guiding his fingers and pulling the sheet down, away from her bare hips and lean legs; the other slid into his hair, fingering it appreciatively before pressing his face down. "You're so eager to spin tales...so spin them."

Sand climbed slowly onto the bed, his chest still hurting slightly. He lay himself between her legs, parting them with his body and then stared up at her. Sand knew he could refuse; but then the geas would make him incredibly sick until he complied. Right now, he had to be clearheaded and focused. He slid forward hesitatingly, until he could press his mouth to her slowly moistening folds. His tongue reached out until the tip touched her small pink pearl and he slowly began swirling it in circles. He closed his eyes, his brow slightly furrowed, holding her legs slightly apart with his cool hands.

_Just consider this part of a job, Sand. Sort of like killing orcs. Unpleasant, not something you'd discuss at tea, but must be done for your survival._

As Torio would have said, "Needs must."

Sand sighed at the memory of her voice, his mouth tightening on Nivarra.

Nivarra let out a sigh, spreading her legs slightly farther apart and allowing him more room. "Mmm...not a bad opening, wizard; eloquent, but to the point." She arched her head slightly against the pillows, a soft moan escaping her lips. She could get used to this; a whipped elven wizard magically bound to her until she no longer needed him. A slight frown formed between her brows, partly due to the incredible sensations rising from between her legs, but mostly from the thought that occurred to her; Sand was able to leave the room, despite her express orders forbidding him to do so. The geas was either weakening, or the Brotherhood had provided a weak spell to begin with...or Sand himself was stronger than they had anticipated.

_What else was he able to do?_

She let out a languorous sigh, reached down and stroking the tip of his ear as he worked reluctantly between her legs. "Come come, slave... _convince _me."

Sand sighed openly into her body, "Ohh...please..." when she began stroking his ear, feeling his traitorous body arch slightly off the bed and into her hands. He pressed his mouth more firmly against her nub, sucking back while he slid his hand forward until he found the centre of her growing wetness. He slipped a finger, and then two, inside and began slowly stroking her walls.

He could feel her building excitement, her slightly shivering muscles. The sooner he...finished her...the sooner he would be able to leave her. Sand began, as he had done for Torio what seemed like a lifetime ago in her room, spelling out the Elven alphabet with his tongue while thrusting his fingers into her. The other hand began stroking her thigh gently, caressing it almost lovingly.

Nivarra gasped, her hips pushing rhythmically into Sand's mouth as he began spearing her with his fingers; she rubbed the tip of his ear almost gently between her fingers as she writhed against the bed, feeling her body build unstoppably towards climax under his ministrations. "Ooohh...yes..."

She could feel her skin flushing with heat, a light sheen of perspiration shivering across her concaved stomach as the muscles beneath her skin began clenching. His fingers felt delightfully cool against her warming skin, almost chilling; and yet his tongue was undeniably warm and wet, and with an almost disappointed, strained groan, she felt the pent up orgasm suddenly shoot through her loins, causing her hips to buck in a staccato rhythm against the mattress, her gasps for breath ragged and intermittent with ecstatic whimpering.

Nivarra sank against the bed, a satiated, spreading warmth infusing her body. She sighed contentedly, pulling her hand back from Sand's head. "Thirty minutes," She said languidly. "Then you sleep in here tonight. Can't risk you disappearing on me again, slave."

Sand lifted his head, sitting up. He practically bolted for his small chambers, wiping his mouth discreetly as he went. Dornan's spell list was there; only a few spells had been changed from the night before. Sand grabbed his spellbook and quickly sat on the mattress on the floor, flipping through his book, finding a strange comfort in its familiarity during these strange days and nights.

Thirty minutes later he emerged from the room, tired. Nivarra was still half-awake; as he lifted the blankets and gently nudged her over, she shifted willingly enough. Sand found it odd that was now requesting his presence in her bed while she slept - somehow "keeping an eye on him" didn't seem to quite fit. But whatever her motivations, he was certain they were devious, underhanded and not with his best interests in mind. He turned onto his side, keeping his back to her and fell into a deep sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Volume 3, Chapter 13 – Torio: Moonlit Propositions**

The lupinal armorer found Torio as the sun was beginning to set and the torches were being lit. "Torio. Your armor is ready."

Torio looked up from a fresh roll of parchment and handed it back down to Brandobras, standing up and brushing grass from her clothing. She turned and followed the armorer back to the tent she had gone to earlier that day; the camp seemed to have exploded with a plethora of new creatures, the avorals counting for almost two apiece as they maneuvered folded wingspans around tents and tables and their bulkier, land-bound comrades.

The leather armor was laid out across one of the many short display tables when they arrived, and Torio felt her heart crawl into her throat just from looking at it. _By hells..._ A day where she, of all people, needed to bedeck themselves in armor was a poor day for diplomats everywhere.

She picked up the first piece, and slowly, carefully, began putting it on, trying to remember where every strap and buckle was supposed to go.

The armorer watched her and then chuckled, "Well, girl, I'd practice getting that on as quickly as possible otherwise the war will be over and you'll still be getting dressed." He put down the piece of leather he was working with and gestured towards the central tent. "Chaksa told me to send you there when you were ready. They'll be expecting you."

Torio snorted lightly. "I suppose I'll have to sleep in this, then." She felt oddly stiff as she moved and bowed slightly to the armorer. "Thank you," she said, and hurried from the tent, dodging through tents and milling guardinals as she made her way towards the central tent. She made odd, near-silent creaking noises as she moved; the leather was surprisingly comfortable, the fabric having been cut, drawn in (or in some cases let out) and shortened so that it fit her like a glove. The runes seemed to glow reassuringly whenever she slipped through a shadow...

When she ducked into the tent, the others were already there; muzzled, horned, clawed and winged, they were waiting for her. Chaksa lifted her muzzle slightly, catching her eye, and Torio made her way through the tent, the low buzz of conversation falling almost silent as she took her place. The two newcomers were obvious; the tall cervidal standing towards the front of the tent was balanced easily on his hooves, arms crossed and long, sloping horns curling from the top of his head. Benignus and the other cervidals had all seemed to move with a supernatural grace that belied their hooved hind legs, but the cervidal before her seemed to make merely standing an art form. Some of the other guardinals in the large tent were shifting from foot to foot (or hoof to hoof, as it were) but this one merely stood, calm, silent, and unutterably graceful. His eyes were deep black and fathomless as he glanced at her only briefly before going back to watching the others around them.

The avoral man standing directly across from her was almost too awe-inspiring to look upon. White, delicate feathers fanned from the top of his head and down his shoulders, finer than any head of hair and gleaming just as richly. His arms rested easily at his sides, wings sprouting along their lengths and folding neatly between his shoulders. He gazed regally around at the others, holding himself slightly apart from the rest.

A voice sounded from the back of tent. "Let us proceed."

Duke Lucan stepped forward towards the table. He was dressed in full ceremonial regalia, the studded leather nearly as black as his fur. He placed both large, clawed hands on the table, looking down between them with lowered eyes while he slowly considered his words and then began speaking. "Friends. We gather not for the reasons we should be gathering: peace, joy, companionship. We gather for those very things which threaten to destroy what we love. War will be upon us and now it is time for us to decide how we will face the coming storm."

Lord Rhanok the cervidal spoke, his voice deep and rich, calling forward long lost memories of orchards and pastoral lands, of simple joys with the earth. "Long have the cervidals proudly served in the defence of Elysium. But I will not send my men into a trap, a folly's quest." His eyes gazed at Torio, black pools searching her soul. "Can we trust the Outsider? Perhaps she is a spy."

Chaksa bristled slightly at the insinuation. "My lord, I have accepted her as one of my own. She can be trusted."

The cervidal blinked slowly, "Perhaps you trust her, Matron, but she has done nothing to earn my trust. I pray that we are not so eager to defeat this evil threat, only to welcome evil into our folds."

The avoral nodded slowly, "Yes, I can sense her evil as well but it feels faded. More a thing of her past." He turned to Torio, tilting his head. "As her memory of her former existence fades, so will, I suspect, the sins that accompany her. But I say, let her speak. We are here as Companions and advisors. Not judges."

A sea of multi-colored eyes fixated on her. If she didn't know better, the Duchess Callisto looked nearly amused, her deep brown eyes twinkling from the furred depths of her face.

Torio cleared her throat, her chin tilting slightly upwards in an age-old habitual gesture. _Yes, Torio, that extra sliver of an inch will make you that much more imposing._ Where were a set of heels when you needed them?

_I wish Sand was here._

And he wasn't...she needed to stop thinking about Sand for the moment.

"I've been asked to help," she said clearly, her voice steady. "I've not lied about who or what I am, nor did I lie when I promised to aid you." Which was true...and somewhat uncharacteristic of her. She felt a general shifting as some of the guardinals moved closer to hear her, and she resisted the urge to back up a step. "Hear me out; you may choose to use my advice or no, but I stand with you regardless."

She began detailing the tactics she had outlined the night before, accounting for the new intelligence that had been filtered in throughout the day. Through it all she moved her gaze around the room, looking at but not really seeing the furred and feathered figures around her. There was no sense of time passing; just her voice, and the slight, subtle sounds of whispers, comments, shifting feet and tapping fingers as she spoke.

When she finished, there was a long, drawn out moment of silence as the guardinals looked at one another.

Sudden a voice came from outside the tent flap. It was a big rumbling voice that held the power of the guardinals and the wisdom of the Planes; listening to it, one could imagine hearing all of Elysium speaking to them. It was a voice that would strike fear into the minds of enemies, love in the hearts of friends and awe in the soul of strangers.

All the guardinals around the table immediately stood and bowed as the tent flap opened, revealing a large, tawny lion of a man entering. His golden eyes shone with a celestial light as he seemed to examine each person in the room without looking at a single one. Prince Talisid motioned for the gathered creatures to relax. "My Companions and their companions. At ease. We meet as equals tonight." He took his place at the round table and smiled kindly at Torio. "You are adept at speaking Ambassador Claven. You are in your element, are you not?"

_Ambassador Claven._

For a moment her tongue betrayed her. The silence stretched on as she started at the leonal before her, her mind blank and simultaneously roiling with a horde of thoughts. Somebody laughed, lightly, at the back of the tent; Chaksa's furred paw tapped lightly against her back, and Torio snapped out of her reverie. She cleared her throat; she knew her eyes must be wider than the moon itself. "Apparently not," she croaked out. "Your Majesty," she added quickly.

The Prince gave her an amused look before turning to the others at the table, his tone low and majestic, "The information the Ambassador has provided you with is accurate and her advice is sound. No war will be won without loss of soldiers and losses of battle. But -" He looked sharply at all the Companions gathered. "These losses will be suffered by all and will be felt by all but the blame will not fall upon her head. She has advise us but the responsibility of what to do still falls upon us."

There were solemn nods around the table; Chaksa reached out and gave Torio a reassuringly squeeze on the shoulder. The leonal nodded then said, "Very well. Then let us begin our deliberations."

Large maps were thrown over the table. Pieces representing various soldier and army units were carefully placed upon the planning board. Duke Rhanok split his forces into six. "North, south, east and west. A patrol for upriver and one for downriver. Will the lupinals be joining us?" Duke Lucan grinned, "But of course."

The avoral leader place two avorals with each of the ground units, saying "I would prefer that my scouts stayed moving in the air, watching and scanning for activity. I suspect our victory will stem from seeing where the enemy teleports into our Plane as quickly as possible."

Duchess Callisto placed her units on the map as well. "Long have the ursinals remained with you, Prince Talisid, as your advisors and scholars. Our numbers are fewer but our magics still potent. Two ursinal mages per group."

Prince Talisid tapped his larged pawed hands in the table. "The leonals will be split evenly between the 6 groups. I myself will join one of the River patrols. Torio, Duchess, I would appreciate it if you joined me there as well. Duke Lucan, will yourself and Chaksa lead the outer patrols? I suspect, Duke Windheir, you prefer to remain mobile along with your scouts. Lord Rhanok, would you do us the honor of leading the other River army? The mustevals should stay with the two River units."

Chaksa spoke up, "What of the priests of Pelor? Will they be joining us? We could use additional healers."

The Prince nodded, "Send word to the temples; we request their aid but do not demand it." He circled the table, studying the map from all angles. "How does this look, friends?"

Torio spoke up, "There's a priest at the temple of Pelor I was...brought to, when I arrived here. Ghero; he knows me." She pinched the bridge of her nose as she gazed down at the map. "I'm not sure if that will help or hinder you, but it might be worth something."

A shorter cervidal spoke up from behind Prince Talisid. "I know some of the priests as well; we helped them when the river changed its course last season and left their crops without water. I'm sure they'll be more than willing to lend their aid."

"How will we resupply the mages with components when we're split up...?"

"...take another group south, it should cover..."

She glanced at Chaksa as some of the other guardinals spoke up. "I won't be with you," she whispered almost disappointedly, adding as an afterthought, "Not that I'd be able to do much to protect you; but still. You must look after yourself."

Chaksa looked down at the human, feeling a strange bond with her. "I could say the same about you, Torio. I am well-versed in the ways of war; you must look after yourself. And Brandobras. I will request that he be in your unit. You seem to work well together. But the Prince's units will be the safest ones; he has placed you with him for a reason."

Prince Talisid smiled, "Very well. We will divide up the priests and clerics of Pelor equally among all the patrol units once they've arrived. We must send words to the villages and cities; tell them to be on the alert, post extra guards..."

Duchess Callisto spoke up, "I will have the mages continue to scry the entire region in hopes of finding more information about their point of entry."

The royal leonal nodded, "Good. They will likely attack fast and hard; they need the element of surprise in order to defeat us. We should head out the day after tomorrow and get into position. If there's nothing else, I believe we all have preparations to make."

The day after tomorrow! Torio waited as most of the guardinals filed out of the tent, feeling strangely impatient and simultaneously dreading the battle. A battle with Brandobras constantly at her side. At least it wasn't a caterwhauling gnome...

She was out and into the clear night air at the tail end of the crowd, standing alone on the grass as guardinals dispersed around her. Chaksa soon appeared behind her; Torio could see a small scattering of campfires, and an enormous bonfire being built in the center of them. Many of the avorals were seen skirting the edges, shying away from the open flames, while the cervidals were gathing close, laughing heartily; one of them began piping some unknown tune on a strange, double-fluted pipe, and a few guardinals passing by stopped to listen, inching closer to the fire.

Torio shook her head. "I've rarely seen an army celebrate on the eve of battle," she said wryly to Chaksa. The smell of food cooking over the firepits was irresistible, and many of the guardinals were settling around them, oiling weapons, shining armor, adjusting straps; a few began passing around food, and one or two began dancing to the cervidal's music.

Chaksa smiled at Torio. "We celebrate so that we may carry the memory of our brothers and sisters-in-arms into battle. It...reminds us of why we fight. And should we lose someone, at least we can look back fondly on the last night we all spent together." She gestured towards the festivities. "Go, Torio, enjoy this evening - find your friends. Destiny has led you here and your life has touched the lives of all those here for a reason. The next day will be full of hard work and preparations; the day after we march."

Torio smiled slightly at Chaksa before turning and pushing through the crowds, finding a place at the larger fire; a bowl of something hot and heavenly smelling was pressed into her hands almost immediately, and some of the lupinals from Chaksa's pack quickly found her, settling down on the fallen logs that made makeshift benches. A musteval was leaping animatedly back and forth, telling some wild tale of a past raid; she ate silently, joining half-heartedly in the laughter and shaking her head firmly when asked to tell a story herself. A few mugs of something warm, spicy, and incredibly strong were being passed around, and she found her eyes closing after a while, lulled into light dozes by the fire and the music and the food and drink in her stomach...

Torio made her excuses and slipped back through the camp, her head thick and heavy with the need for sleep. Her tent seemed miles away, and when she finally pushed open the flap, the nervousness and excitement of the day pressing down on her, she moved towards the bed, fully intent on sprawling across it and shutting her eyes.

She might have done just that, were it not for the scrap of parchment on her bed. All it read, in a scrawling handwriting, was _River bank, north of the small grove._

Her heart raced, and she was suddenly very wide awake. She crushed the note in her fist, her eyes narrowed in the dim moonlight filtering through the still open flap of her tent.

A few minutes later, the small figure of a human woman could barely be seen skirting the edge of the camp, heading towards the river.

As Torio approached the designated location, a large red snake reared up in the grass, hissing, "Torio Claven? Ambassssssador. Mortal." It coiled itself slowly around her until it was draped across her neck, holding its long narrow face inches from her own, its silver eyes intelligent. "I repressssssssent the Lord of the coming army. We want to help you. You wissssssh to return home, yessssss?"

Torio swallowed as she felt the smooth, scaly form slide around her neck. The snake's eyes were trained on her unerringly, its tongue flickering over the edge of his snout rhythmically as it waited for her answer. "Yes," she said cautiously. "I do. And you want to help me, is it?" Her eyes narrowed; it was customary to try and undermine enemy tactics by bribes, that much was true. She'd seen it done often enough. By the hells, she had been in the snake's very place before; dark meetings under moonlight, whispered promises, the underlying feeling that you knew your contact was going to end up saving their own skin, regardless of what they might profess.

"What exactly is the 'cost' of this help?" She asked quietly.

The snake slipped a long, thin silver dart that it had been holding with its tail into Torio's hand. "Kill either Prince Talisssssssid or Duke Windheir, the avoral leader. Thissssss dart has a sssssspecial poison." The snake smiled at her. "Once it piercesss hissss sssskin, the blood will activate a portal to take you home to your preciousssss Bodaessssss."

It chuckled at the name. "We are flattered you chosssse sssssuch a name for your lover, mortal. Do we have a bargain?"

_Bodaes_. It shot through her like cold iron. _My viper._ "Yes, I'm sure it would be flattering for you, wouldn't it?" She stared at the dart.

It would get her home sooner, that much was almost positive. Tonight, even...she'd just have to find the Prince or the arrogant avoral...one little prick...

...and then Faerun stretched out before her, and she could begin looking for Sand and this mistress of his, and find out once and for all...

And just like the empty, nagging feeling that she would have if she stayed in Elysium forever, there would be that empty, nagging feeling at the back of her mind that, once again, innocent blood was on her hands for the sake of her own selfish desires. And what if she found Sand and he had forgotten her? What if he was happy where he was now at, and no longer wanted her or her help?

Just like Ember...multitudes dead, and in the end, it would all be for no reason...

She gripped the snake right below its head, and carefully, almost casually, unwrapped it from her shoulders before dropping it in the dirt. "I can't be bought so easily as that, _viper_," she said with deceptive sweetness. "My way home will be opened soon enough, once your 'Lord' has been utterly crushed."

The snake gave an undignified hiss and then reared up to its full height, nearly as tall as Torio. "If you mean the hellssssss, then yessss you'll be home ssssssoon." It turned to move off. "You think you've ssssshed your ssssskin, sssssnake? We sssshall ssssssee. Keep the weapon; you may change your mind."

Torio watched the scarlet hued snake wind its way through the grass sinuously, her heart pounding. She slipped the dart into her belt, and turned making her way back towards her tent.

_Tonight, if you wanted it, girl..._

She'd have to sleep on it. When she reached her tent, she was tired, but clear-headed. She removed the dart, the elaborate kris, her armor, her boots...she slipped into the bed, staring at the roof of her tent.

_Just sleep on it._

Sleep was a long time coming.


	14. Chapter 14

**Volume 3, Chapter 14 – Sand: Paying Off My Family's Debts**

Nivarra woke early, as per usual; the elf was still facing away from her, his breathing slow and regular, and almost as if by magic the door to her chamber creaked open as she sat up, her maidservant entering the room and shuffling to her wardrobe.

Feeling awake, refreshed, and decidedly cruel, she planted her bare foot daintily against Sand's back and pushed, kicking him off of the bed. "Wake up," she said pleasantly. "Be ready to be summoned in an hour. I must speak with my father, and then I have no doubt he will have something for you." She slipped from the bed, letting her maid draw her to the wardrobe, and began dressing, ignoring Sand completely.

Sand hit the floor with a loud thud, the air expelling from his lungs, more shocked than hurt. He glanced up at her retreating form, waiting until she was out of earshot before muttering, "Well, good morning to you too, mistress Nivarra. Grumpy? Well I seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh wait, I seem to have woken up on the floor." He stood up and followed the guard to the bathing room. When he returned, Nivarra was gone. He glanced at the bureau that hid the secret door but decided against taking that chance. Instead, he sat in the high backed chair, toying with his _ariik_ gem, waiting for whatever the gods were going to throw at him today.

* * *

Lord Dornan looked thoughtful as Nivarra placed the object on his desk. "And where did you find this, again?"

"Father," She said almost scoldingly. "You can't think that I don't have my own business arrangements to run? I acquired it. And now we have a cause to use it, I think." She pursed her lips in distaste. "He was apparently trying to 'escape' last night; one of the guards brought him back to my door at near midnight." She shook her head. "We can remove it when you need to use him, father, but he relies very heavily on his ability to manipulate magic so easily." She arched an eyebrow at Dornan, her eyes cold. "Sometimes you learn to appreciate the use of such power by not having it."

He narrowed his eyes at her...but after a long, tense moment, finally nodded. "All right. I'll acquiesce your request; but mark my words, girl, if this interferes with my workings even the slightest, I'm revoking your control over him."

Nivarra nodded stiffly, and called out, "Guard!" The answering clank of metal announced the man's movement to the door. "Bring the wizard here."

When Sand was pulled into the room a few minutes later, the guard drew the elf over to the desk, and ominously held the wizards arms at his sides. Nivarra gestured; a second guard came up, picking a wrapped object up from Dornan's desk.

"Have you heard of 'dead magic zones', wizard?" Lord Dornan asked, as the cloth was peeled back from a dark, metallic gleaming object. "Obelisks or gems, trinkets that absorb magic, causing spells that are cast within the area to fail utterly. Rather beautiful stones; they make for some fine craftsmanship, as well." Dornan stared hard into Sand's face. "I believe that today, we shall focus on the meaning of what it truly means to be a slave; you might appreciate the fine accoutrements that you, as my daughter's wizard, are entitled to...once they are taken away."

In the guards hands, unwrapped and gleaming, was a perfectly round, slender collar.

The panic that had been steadily rising in his chest burst out fully. "No..." Sand whispered, staring at the collar. He knew what that was. He shot a desperate look at Nivarra and Dornan. "No. Oh gods, please no. No." He tried backing up and away from the collar but the larger human guards held him firm. His mind raced; he could cast _Time Stop _and run...

_And how far would you get, Sand, before the geas would knock you out for disobeying her?_

He gave Nivarra a pleading look. "Please...don't."

Dornan merely arched a brow. Nivarra smiled at him coolly. "We do not tolerate disobedience, wizard," She said, her voice impersonal and sharp. "You will have to learn that." She nodded, and the guard swung the collar open, sliding it forward around the struggling elf's throat.

As soon as the collar went around him, he felt as though the very blood inside his veins was being drawn out into the collar. The faint crackling energy that he had taken for granted as simply being a part of him faded into nothingness and suddenly his whole existence seemed very flat, and gray. He felt _dull_. He was no longer Sand the Wizard; merely Sand. Then with a pang he realized he wasn't even that as Nivarra had claimed his name as well. He had become one of the nameless, faceless, expendable servants of Luskan...

It was terrifying.

The far door opened, and a tall, slightly heavyset man walking with the help of a thick cane entered the room, his eyes fixed almost greedily on Sand. Dornan intoned evenly, "You belong to the Housemaster today, wizard. No spells; no magic; no worth except the sweat off of your back." The tip of the cane snuck forward as Dornan spoke, touching Sand none-to-gently across the back of his legs. The Housemaster had moved so that he stood slightly behind Sand and the guard holding him, grinning.

Nivarra said, absently, "I would prefer he be returned to me in one piece, Master Yune."

The Housemaster spoke, his voice deep and rumbling and slightly hoarse. "Of course, my lady. We'll heal him right up when we're done with him."

So saying, the guard gave Sand an ungentle shove towards Master Yune, and the Housemaster tapped the back of Sand's shoulders as they walked towards the doorway. "The kitchens for you first thing, elf," he said as they exited the room. "The head cook will run you; obey her without question, or else..."

The cane tapped rhythmically against Sand's back meaningfully.

He gave Nivarra one last look before the Housemaster was guiding him out of the room, through the now familiar halls into the kitchen. He had just been here, a scant few hours ago and now he was back. Master Yune gave him a firm thwack across the legs, "Get in there and behave. You should be thankful Master Dornan has shown you kindness and not his whip."

Sand stumbled in and then stood awkwardly before a short plump human cook, not trusting himself to speak.

The cook eyed Sand up and down briefly, her face reddened from the heat of the kitchen around her; the servants worked at a backbreaking pace, eyes downcast, sweat gleaming off of their skin as they scoured pots, scrubbed floors, boiled water, moved hot pots and pans from the wood burning stove to the counters and back again. A thin, reedy man was preparing the food, a wickedly gleaming butcher knife in his hands as he chopped vegetables; he made no acknowledgement that Sand was even standing there.

"Hilna!"

"Yes ma'am!" A whip of a human girl appeared almost as if by magic at the Head Cook's side, her eyes pained as they darted briefly to Sand's face before looking obediently up at the heavyset woman.

"Get him scrubbing pots, for now. I want the entire row done in the next fifteen minutes, or I'm takin' it out on both of you."

Hilna's face paled. "Yes ma'am!" She reached out, grabbed Sand by the wrist, and dragged him towards the back of the kitchen, where a huge tub was filled with water and a foul smelling lye soap that stung the eyes merely from being near it. "Here," She whispered urgently, shoving a metal-bristled scrubbing brush and a grease covered, blackened cooking pot into his hands. "Scrub it, hard; if there's even a speck of grease still on the pan it'll be your back." She picked up another pan and bent to it, the muscles standing out on her forearrms and wrists as she scrubbed almost wildly, her skin reddening from the painful contact with the potent water in the tub below them.

Sand whispered, "Thank you, dear girl," and began scraping the grease off the pot. His eyes darted to her and her furiously quick and surprisingly strong scrubbing; then his gaze went to the daunting row of pots, pans, trays...

_15 minutes. Or _both_ of them..._

More for her sake than his, Sand bent over and stuck the pot into the hot soapy water. He could feel the skin of his finger burning painfully from the caustic liquid but he ignored it, rubbing the brush hard across the blackened surface of the pot until the slimy grease melted away. Hilna was already on her second pot and Sand quickened his pace. He grabbed a large cooking tray and dunked it in the water, using a piece of steel wool to loosen the burnt bits of food. He could feel the heat on his skin, the sweat causing his hair to stick to his neck as he worked silently beside the young human girl.

The young girl was nearly panting by the time they were finished; her hands and forearms were streaked with painful red marks, the tips of her fingers beginning to blister, when the last pan was stacked clean on top of the others. Almost instantly, a pair of meaty hands grasped the back of both of their collars, and swung them away from the tub.

"Two minutes too slow," said the cook almost gleefully. "I'll be sure to inform the Housemaster of your shoddy performance, elf. Two minutes, two lashes; I'm sure he'll give you time to collect your debt at the end of the day."

Sand was tossed roughly against the floor. "Get him a bucket and a brush! Hilna, you know where to go; and don't dally coming back, it's only two lashes."

The girl's face flitted with a despairing, defeated expression before she turned and slipped from the kitchen. A bucket filled with the same foul, soapy water was dropped before Sand's face, and a white-bristled brush dropped into it, causing the concoction to splash over the edges and across the floor. "Scrub," said the cook, giving Sand a kick in the side. "Until I tell you to stop." The heavyset, red-faced woman turned and bent over the food preparations; the thin man at her side looked over his shoulder, glancing disdainfully down at the elf and smiling slightly.

Sand bit back the sharp words about to flow from his mouth and picked up the brush from the water. Was he really nothing more than a mongrel, to be kicked about by all of Luskan? He gritted his teeth and began scrubbing the floors. Multitude of feet scurried around him, stepped over him, tripped on him. After a time, he found if he just ignored the people moving around him and just focused on his task, the time seemed to go quicker and he seemed to get less in the way of the others.

He looked up occasionally, trying to catch the eye of a sympathetic servant. But they all kept their heads and eyes averted from him, running to and fro with a barely concealed frenzy as the Cook yelled, screamed, berated, threatened and then finally boxed the ears of a servant who dropped a carrot. He turned back to the floor and scrubbed with a renewed vigor.

Finally, close to noon, the bell sounded for the lunch time meal, and trays laden with the morning's work were carried out by well dressed, cool faced servants who looked as if they had never seen a days hard work in their life. Once the last finely-garbed, tray carrying form left the kitchen, the Housemaster entered, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor.

The head cook grabbed Sand by the back of his collar and pulled him up from the floor, held straight-backed for the Housemaster to inspect him. Master Yune eyed the elf shrewdly. "And how did he do?"

"Garnered himself two lashes, Master Yune," the cook said happily. "Would have been more but His Lordship asked for a three courser for lunch and I didn't have time to keep a close eye on 'im; suspect His Lordship's got some company over?"

"Never mind that," said Master Yune briskly. "Have you fed him?" When the cook shrugged, the Housemaster reached out, clamping his hand down on a half-loaf of bread. He thrust it into Sand's hands, saying, "There'll be water where you're going next; get that down, I'll not be responsible for you dropping from lack of nourishment. Come, come, eat while you walk."

With a tap of that cane against the back of Sand's legs, they were off once again. The Housemaster stopped more than a few times to gather some of the more bedraggled looking servants running around the estate and order them into line behind him; apparently while the day servants and those that worked visibly with Lord Dornan's visitors enjoyed some measure of comfort, the permanent, lower level servants and slaves were treated hardly any better than livestock; the almost silent shuffle of feet behind Sand as Master Yune led them outside onto the estate grounds was practically steeped in a miasma of desperation.

A large, burly, one eyed man was waiting for them, standing next to what looked like merely a pile of rubble. "His Lordship is building an extension to the main building of his Estate, and you, my friends, have the honor of adding your strength to the task! Hipshari will oversee you; work quickly and you will be finished quickly; laze about, and Hipshari will have to add speed to your limbs himself." The huge man grinned, unslinging a long, knot-ended whip from his belt. Yune gazed at Sand momentarily, and said, offhandedly, "And I believe the elf owes me two lashes already."

His whole body ached; it seemed as though every muscle (and muscles he didn't know he had) was throbbing, burning on fire. The sun was high in the sky and his heart sank as he realized he wasn't even half way through the day yet. The other servants moved quickly to the pile of loose and broken stone and picked them up, moving around towards the back of the mansion. His fingers twitched in an automatic desire to cast a spell. Just a spell or two and the entire task could be done, but the collar gleamed in the sunlight and rested heavily against his skin, the cool metal seeming sever him from the magic that made him who he was.

Master Yune was staring at him with a strangely satisfied expression; Hipshari was fingering the whip. Sand took a step back nervously. "Now?"

Hipshari laughed, circling around him. "I'm sorry, yer highness, did you have an appointment to make?" The whip dangled as the man arched it back, its knotted end floating almost gracefully through the air. "Master Yune says you get two, you get two." He arched a grizzled eyebrow towards the Housemaster.

Yune nodded, once, sharply.

The whip cracked through the air almost instantly after that, Hipshari not seeming to care in particular which part of Sand's body the instrument landed on, so long as it landed. The knotted end ensured that the thing strip of leather swung straight and true, and with a sick, wet crack! it tore through the thin layer of Sand's clothing, ripping through the skin underneath.

Hipshari chuckled, pulling his hand back for the second lash. "I think you're going to miss your appointment, your majesty." The second blow landed against Sand's legs, almost wrapping around the elf's thigh; Hipshari pulled the whip back viciously.

The first lash caught him diagonally across the chest; before Sand could even respond the second lash was on him, biting into the skin of his legs. Bright scarlet red blood sprang to the surface of the cut even as the pain sliced through him.

"Oh gods..." He staggered under the force of the blows, his hands going up to touch the wounds. Hipshari was waving the whip at him and pointing to the rubble. Sand limped over and picked up the first piece of smashed rock. He could feel the warm, sticky blood dripping down his leg but he ignored it.

_That's a boy, Sand. How often have you had to march through the countryside with battlewounds or have had to cast with an arrow sticking out of you?_

Yune smiled. "I think you're in good hands here, slave. I'll return for you at dusk." With that, the Housemaster disappeared into the building.

Sand half-closed his eyes as he walked, pretending, for a moment, that he was back in Neverwinter and he was carrying his pack on some random adventure. He would welcome a visit from even the githyanki at this point. He could almost hear the bickering, the inane comments about the trees, the laughing...

He bumped into a slave and was yanked out of his daydream. Dropping the rock onto the small slowly forming pile, he went back for another. He was already beginning to sweat, the hot sun sending its heat down mercilessly. His robes were heavy and clung to him; his arms were beginning to shake from the exertion.

His mind flittered to Torio and the corner of his lips twitched up in the barest of a smile. He wondered what she would say to him now if she could see him, as he picked up another stone.

_Helkaer_...

Every hour a break was called for five minutes and water was passed out amongst the workers. Hipshari grew bored often; he would, without warning, lash out at a particularly slow moving servant every few minutes, clucking his tongue. Soon, many of the men and women working alongside Sand were marked with slashes and criss-crossed whip marks, blood oozing through their clothing as they worked.

The rubble pile was beginning to shrink, while the pile by the house grew immeasurably larger, the stones piled neatly on top of one another. As the sun began dipping towards evening, the pace of work slowed; even Hipshari's whip could not encourage the exhausted servants to move faster or lift heavier weights.

The last break for water was called, and a weary, youthful looking human dropped down on the grass next to Sand, panting heavily as he raised his clay cup towards the elf's face. "To Luskan," the young man said bitterly, and drank down his water in a single gulp; his back and buttocks were crusted over with dried blood, long tears in his clothing from where Hipshari's whip had found him. "I haven't seen you before, elf. They just find you?"

Sand could barely lift his mug in response to the youth. "Found, purchased, forced into slavery. I suppose it's all the same here. I was captured aboard ship and I woke up here. It's been...3 days, nearly?" He realized he was starting to lose track of the time. "Fortunately - or unfortunately, I haven't quite decided yet - I belong to Nivarra." He drained his small cup and wished he had more. He pulled back the shoulder of his robe to examine a deep gash. The blood had already dried, crusting into a darkish brown. "What about you?"

The young man snorted. "Paying off my family's debts; my father borrowed heavily from Lord Durnan, the gods rest him...it was either this or prison." He shook his head, handing the clay cup back to the serving girl who was walking around, filling cups with water from a pitcher balanced precariously on her shoulder. "At the moment I'm almost wishing I'd picked prison. Or that my father had borrowed money from someone else." The man eyed Sand curiously. "So you're one of Nivarra's, then? Normally her servants stay inside the estate." He sighed wistfully. "What I wouldn't give for cold stone walls in this heat; all I've got to look forward to tomorrow is moving more rocks all over again."

Hipshari was now yelling at them to stand up; Master Yune was herding them back into the mansion. Sand stayed by the youth. "Yes well I suppose Nivarra is punishing me for trying to escape." He lowered his voice. "Look, if I ever find a way to escape this place, I'll try to take as many of you as I can. My name is Sand and I'm a mage and formerly a spy for Neverwinter."

The young man's face lit up almost instantly. "Neverwinter," he whispered. "By the gods, a spy for Nasher? You must..."

They were cut off by Yune's thundering voice, ordering the servants into their quarters. A short, squat old woman dressed in cleric's robes sidled up out of nowhere, and bowed to the Housemaster, who gestured her in after the servants. "Make sure they get their supper, Alysin. And when you've healed the elf, bring him back to Lady Nivarra's quarters! She's expecting him."

The old woman bobbed her head once more as Yune left, his cane tapping against the flagstones.

The servant's quarters were arranged so that privacy was almost impossible; small, two-walled alcoves were lined up along the walls, a set of beds in each one. In the center was a long, communal table, currently holding a large soup pot and various bowls waiting to be filled. Surprisingly there was no pushing or shoving; a few of the younger servants began spooning bowls and passing them out as the wounded, wearied men and women sank around the table. The relief of tension was almost palpable, and the young man whispered to Sand, "We're let into the washrooms once everyone retires to bed, in order to clean them, but it's our chance to bathe, as well." A bowl of soup was pressed into Sand's hands by one of the young women at the pot. Alysin the healer was making her rounds as the servants ate, healing them for the next day. The man grinned at him. "My name is Matthew; I'm glad to have met you, Sand of Neverwinter."

Alysin approached them, a tired smile on her face. "Well, don't you both look awful? Let's see if I can fix that for you, Matthew dear. And you, master elf, as well." She placed her wrinkled hands on Matthew's shoulders and began chanting.

"Well met, Matthew. I...hope to see you again my friend. It is nice seeing a friendly face here." He watched the activity in the room; the slaves and servants all seemed to get along, united by their common misery. He sighed; suddenly escaping by himself was no longer a viable option if he knew all these poor souls suffered under the yoke of Dornan's tyranny. He said to the young human, in quiet voice while Alysin was rummaging through her pack "Remember what I said earlier. I'll...be working on something. I'll do what I can. You have a friend; tell those whom you trust and only them. It...Well, boy, suffice it to say I don't look forward to what will happen to me - us - if we're caught."

Sand turned curiously to Alysin as she stopped fussing with her supplies and put her hands on him gently, "Are you a servant? A slave?" He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his wounds mend. He smiled at the cleric. "Thank you, dear girl."

Alysin clucked her tongue slightly, but smiled as her spell took effect. "You're most welcome," the old woman said amiably. "Yes, I work for Lord Dornan, if you must know. Voluntarily, of course; there's work enough for me here, within his walls." Her face looked sad for a moment. "Were it my way, there would never be a need for my services." She sighed, and then smiled at him, brushing down her robes. "Let me finish my round, master elf, and I'll escort you back to the Lady's chambers...eat up!" She tapped the edge of the bowl resting in Sand's hands. "You'll need your strength."

After the healer moved away, Matthew whispered, "I'll let in a few I know I can trust; there are a small number of servants that are so broken at this point that hearing such...dissention would only give them something to report to Master Yune to curry favor with him." His eyes were troubled. "Be careful, Sand. The house servants that work within the walls can not be trusted, no matter what they tell you. They've got much more to lose than we do, if any of this reaches Lord Dornan's ears."

A few minutes later, Alysin led Sand from the servant's quarters, to a chorus of friendly, if subdued goodbyes. The old healer walked at a brisk, clipping pace despite her derelict appearance, and her voice was not unkind as she said, "I've never seen you before; I take it your one of the Lady's favorites." She looked over at Sand, saying quietly as they turned down the hall that led to Nivarra's chambers, "I wish you luck, in this household. You're going to need it." The guards snapped to attention as they approached Nivarra's doors, and one of them opened it for Sand; the healer's wizened, smiling face soon disappeared behind the polished wood door as it shut behind him with a snick!


	15. Chapter 15

**Volume 3, Chapter 15 – Torio: The Prince's Ambassador**

The next day was a flurry of activity from all the groups. The avorals departed a day early, before noon for their patrols while the other guardinals prepared weapons, armors, food and began packing up the multicolored tents. Dahras had begged and wheedled with Prince Talisid until the leonal lord had agreed to let him be in the same unit at Torio and Brandobras.

Finally it was dawn of the day they were to march out. Each group was to meet under a banner signaling their location: a snowflake for the North, a tree for the South, a sun for the East and a moon for the West. Those traveling with Prince Talisid were under the royal banner; the others along the River met under a banner with a water droplet painted on.

Dahras bounded up to Torio, wearing simple leather armor that shone in the rising sun. A long bow was strapped to his back with a quiver full of arrows. "Torio! Are you ready yet? Prince Talisid says we travel soon; it'll by at least a full days march until we reach down River."

Torio finally finished buckling on the last pieces of armor; even though the leather was lightweight, her underdeveloped muscles ached stiffly from the unfamiliar weight; she could have sworn she heard her hips creaking in relief as she had removed her weapon belt the night before. She sighed wearily, glancing at Dahras. "I'm ready as I'll ever be. Let's go find the Prince's banner."

The camp was almost completely torn down as her and the lupinal made their way towards the royal banner flapping high above the mulling contingent that would follow Prince Talisid. The field they were in suddenly looked huge without the scattering of large tents and milling bodies to fill it; grass stretched in every direction under a blue sky popped with white and grey clouds, tinged with gold as the sun made its appearance above the horizon. She glanced over her shoulder as a group of cervidals began breaking down her tent, one of the last standing in a small cluster of sleeping tents.

She glanced at Dahras as they approached the Prince's group. The lupinal seemed cheerful, almost excited, as they fell into place in Talisid's formation and waited. Most of the guardinals around her radiated calm, confidence, fearlessness._ Readiness._ Her own stomach wouldn't stop turning somersaults as the call the march went out, and as one, the groups positioned on the plane gave a great, uplifting cry and began to move.

_What was she thinking?_ She wasn't made for this, battles and fighting and shedding blood. She was made for high vaulted throne rooms, long, in-depth studies.._.and dark, midnight meetings in secret glades..._

The pace seemed sharp and quick, and yet Torio found it easy to keep up; they seemed to account for her and Brandobras, at least. Torio looked over at Dahras as they moved, the grass swishing rhythmically with the feet of their group as they walked. "Aren't you even nervous?" she asked.

Dahras flashed her a large grin. "Of course; but...but if I let the nervousness get to me..." He inhaled deeply, then let out his breath slowly. "The feeling in my stomach just makes me want to be sick. It's better I run around and get all that energy out, tire myself out so I can sleep at night."

They walked in silence for a moment, until he spoke up again, "Are you nervous?"

Torio laughed. "I'm terrified," she said, dodging around a hole in the ground...probably made from tent pegs or a poorly covered firepit... "I've always avoided physical conflict." She fell back into step, her voice wry. "Are you sure you can't argue your way out of this? I have quite a hand in doing that."

The leonal in front of her grunted in what suspiciously sounded like a chuckle.

The next stretch of time was immeasurable; there were quiet conversations that floated through the ranks in front and behind her, and some of the guardinals chanted sing-song cadences when they grew bored or tired, the words keeping the many varied steps and strides in time with each other.

They called a halt before noon for a brief rest and some food. Torio sat on the grass with the others, already exhausted; she ate in silence, an uneasy broodiness falling on her even as she listened to the creatures around her laugh and talk with one another.

Dahras watched Torio eating in silence, seemingly oblivious to all going around her. He cocked his head to the side, "Tired? Want me to carry you the rest of the way? I'm strong enough."

Brandobras nudged the lupinal, before handing Torio a flask of a rich brown liquid. "Or is it something else? We're good listeners." He had his pipe out again, blowing bubbles into the air as he looked at her, concerned. "We have time to talk I'm sure. Prince Talisid only looks like he starting to eat now."

Torio took a long drink, her eyes watering as she coughed down the burning liquid. "I suppose I'm a bit tired, is all." _Well, that much was certainly true_. She smiled wryly at Dahras. "I can walk, though, friend...I mustn't embarrass you or your fine mother, mustn't I?"

She thought of the serpent the night before, and frowned, handing the flask back to Brandobras, lowering her voice. "Let me ask you something," she said quietly, leaning forward so that her face was close to the lupinal and the halfling. "Say you have...two roads to go down. One was longer and significantly harder for you, but the other road, while shorter and easier, is also more destructive. Which would you choose?"

Brandobras eyed her curiously for a moment but said, "Well...if the destination's the same? Depends on the destruction, maybe. And...how much longer and how much harder the other road was? Girl, you've given me no information on a very in-depth philosophical discussion." He watched the bubbles float into the air. "It's a balance then. That's what it sounds like. You have to make that call for yourself I suppose. What price you are willing to pay, what you're willing to trade."

He leaned forward. "Most of the guardinals here would say take the longer road if it would prevent greater destruction. Prince Talisid...he understands that there are times when lesser evils must be tolerated for a greater good." The halfling glanced in the direction of the leonal. "That is why he is the leader of the Guardinals. He understands the nature of evil. It is said he studied evil, spent times in the hells, meditated on what it means to be evil. He's the only one in Elysium willing to do good by taking on the mantle of evil."

"Is he?" Torio craned to see past the sitting, lounging, pacing guardinals, to where Prince Talisid sat, talking quietly with a few leonals. She could almost make out the golden light in his eyes as the furred features on his face deepened in a thoughtful frown.

_It's a balance, then._

She had to agree with the Prince's philosophy, if that's what it was. She would never be able to completely forget, ignore, turn aside, the evil in her past. She knew it all too well; it had touched her, held her, made her its own, and though she now knew she wouldn't go back to it...it had left its mark.

_So._ A balance it would be, then.

The call went out soon to begin the march once again, and Torio excused herself quickly as the others prepared once more to march, on the pretense of relieving her very human needs. When she was safely hidden in the treeline, she glanced behind her, ducking behind a tall stump. Fiddling with the dart in her belt, she held it up for a moment, admiring its obviously excellent craftmanship.

_One prick._

She carefully tossed it far into the trees, watching it flash briefly before it disappeared in the foliage.

When she fell back into formation a few moments later, she was whistling an old sea shanty popular among the docks of Luskan, as the guardinals around her picked up the march once more.

It was nearly midnight by the time the group reached the River Oceanus, the pace having slowed as the creatures tired. They could hear the rushing water and see the glowing squids darting about beneath the surface. Without complaints, the guardinals immediately began setting up their small travel tents and bedrolls. Fires were quickly started, fresh water drawn from the River.

Brandobras pulled out a small map and pointed their location to Torio. "Here we are. We're about an hour's walk away from the village of Mai, two from the town of Gwillikens. If we take boats, we're only one hour from Gwillikens cause it's downstream. We should see if we can visit the two settlements. You need to see at least one city in Elysium; it's not all fields and forests!"

A great flapping noises alerted them to an incoming avoral. It landed, saying to the group as a whole, but looking at Prince Talisid. "My Prince! Glad to see you've all made it. Patrols of the areas have been quiet, normal. The Eastern and Northern patrols have made camp; the Southern group has another 2-3 hours to go. The Western patrols won't arrive likely until tomorrow morning. The upriver group arrived a short while ago. Priests of Pelor will be headed here by boat in the morning." The avoral scratched its head for a moment. "That's all to report, my lord."

The Prince thanked the avoral and it took off into the skies once again, its great wings casting a shadow across the encampment. Prince Talisid called out, "Small nightwatch tonight. Everybody, I want you sleeping and rested for tomorrow. We have done well today."

One of the leonals turned and called out, "Who's got the first two hours?"

There was a shuffling of feet, and then a horned head nodded from the side of the formation. "Myself and my brother, we'll take them."

A musteval spoke up from the back. "We'll take next!"

A few more volunteers covered the next six hours of the night's rest, and most of the creatures around her began setting up their makeshift camp. There was no firelight; the food was dried meat and whatever could be taken from the rations given to her, and soon Torio was on her back in her sleeping roll, listening to the soft snores, growls, and squeaks around her. Brandobras was next to her, muttering to himself as he slept; every time his foot twitched she felt it tap against her calf. Dahras was on her other side, so close that she could feel the comforting heat radiating from his furred form. After a moment of listening to the lupinal snuffle quietly in his sleep, she nudged her sleeping roll closer to his (and away from Brandobras' kicking feet) and nestled down against him, sighing quietly into his back and falling asleep.

* * *

There was a heavy dew on the grass and the sleeping forms as the sun began peaking over the horizon. Dahras awoke, blinking the droplets out of his eyes before turning slightly. Torio was clutching the fur on his back lightly, pressed against him, the corners of her mouth turned down. She was covered in so much dew that her hair was soaked through. The lupinal gently extracted himself from her and sat up. He crawled out of the bedroll and walked a short distance away before shaking the water off vigorously.

Some leonals had already started laying out a small breakfast table; he walked over. "Friends. Any word?"

A sable coloured leonal handed him a platter of breads and fruits. "Everything is quiet. We're starting up small patrols today, following the River. Prince Talisid wants small units to stay in Mai and Gwillikens as well. Priests from Pelor have arrived as well."

Dahras nodded his thanks, scanning the crowds until he could see the yellow robed figures, and took the food back to the sleeping Torio and Brandobras. He crouched down. "Torio. Wake up. I have a lovely breakfast for you."

Torio opened her eyes, and instantly made a face, muttering a few curses under her breath as she lifted her head and felt her hair sticking wetly to her, moisture dripping from the short strands and into the grass. She heard Brandobras mumble sleepily, "Breakfast?" to her left, and glanced at him; the halfling still looked half asleep, and yet he was sitting up doggedly, licking his lips.

Torio chuckled, and took the proffered food. "Thank you," she said. "How soon before we move?"

Dahras shrugged. "Traveling today is less urgent than yesterday. This area will likely serve as our base camp; permanent units are being sent to Mai and Gwillikens and patrols are being formed." He picked up a grape-like fruit and popped it into his mouth.

Brandobras yawned, "Let's go to Gwillikens...Then we'll sleep in the inns and have beds." He stretched, popping his back. "Gwillikens is one of the larger settlements. You'll like it."

Dahras chuckled, "Suggest it to the Prince. I don't see why he's say no, unless he needs you here." He ate another 'grape'. "The priests of Pelor are here as well."

Torio snorted. "Why not? I might wake up without looking like I've slept in a veritable swamp." She ran a hand through her damp hair as she popped a few pieces of fruit into her mouth. Standing, she brushed herself down, and asked dryly, "How do I look?" before turning and making her way to where Prince Talisid was standing by himself.

She had been used to approaching high-ranking officials, lords, kings, in her life, but the sight of the leonal standing tall in front of her was downright daunting. And she had been leagues better dressed and groomed when faced with said rulers; a small woman in dirty, travel-stained armor with a wet mop of hair certainly didn't paint a picture of diplomatic confidence.

She cleared her throat, nodding her head in what she hoped was a respectful bow; she had never managed to bow without it being pervaded with a mocking sense of irony. "Your...Majesty, myself and my companions would request to travel to Gwillikens, if that meets with your approval."

Prince Talisid looked up from the mug of tea he was contemplating. "Ah yes. Torio. Walk with me a bit, will you?" He began leader her towards the outskirts of the small, hastily put up sleeping area. "You have not had the opportunity to visit Gwillikens, I suppose. Certainly - go with the permanent unit being sent there. With royal leave, please stay and act as...ah...my Ambassador. Though you may want to bathe first." He gave her a kind smile, his golden eyes shining like the sun, his mane rippling. "We all have a part to play in this war. In every war." They had made their way now to the River. The Prince bent down and picked up a smooth flat rock, skipping it across the surface of the water. "Will you be returning home after this is over, if we all survive? If you do decide to return to Abeir-Toril, I will personally open the portal to send you home. But first before you leave, I do wish to talk with you."

Torio followed the leonal prince down to the river, hands clasped behind her back. She couldn't help chuckling. "Ambassador, Your Majesty? I'm afraid most of the diplomatic tactics I'm familiar with would most likely be frowned upon here. But I suppose an old cur can learn something new." Her voice was warmly self-deprecating. She sighed imperceptibly, and then watched the rock he threw skip across the water expertly before sinking below the surface. "I am planning on returning as of now, Your Majesty. There are too many...loose ends on Toril that I can't leave." _Even if I end up forgetting them, eventually. _

She smiled slightly, gazing around the landscape. "It will be a shame to leave this place. Even with the occasional impromptu wars springing up with Baator."

Prince Talisid chuckled, "I am familiar with diplomatic methods on Toril. What you humans do pales in comparison to what I've seen done in the Nine Hells. All I need you to do in Gwillikens is to inform the people of the situation. Tell them they must be ready to seek protection, hide, to be alert for strange activities. I am sending the ursinals with you; they will want to have access to the Library at Gwillikens. We still don't know how the Devils plan on entering Elysium, or if we can scry their entry location." He stood, hands on his hips as he surveyed the scene around him. "Even if you leave, Torio, perhaps one day you will find your way back here again, once you have found peace."

He looked down at her. "I will leave you to your preparations. Avorals will be in touch with you daily. Try to enjoy your stay here despite the...impromptu wars with Baator."

Torio smiled. "I'll will most assuredly try, Your Majesty. Thank you." She gave a quick, graceful bow, and turned, heading back up towards the camp, feeling the leonal's presence behind her like a burning ray at her back, warm and fierce and ever watchful.

Brandobras and Dahras looked at her expectantly as she approached them. "Pack your things," She said evenly. "We need to find the permanent unit being sent to Gwillikens and inform them that we're now attached to them." She shook her head as she began rolling up her sleeping back. "Hopefully it'll be warm beds and a roof tonight, along with the devils and battles."

They separated from Prince Talisid's company soon after and made their way towards the group preparing to march for the city. A pair of ursinals hailed her as she approached, and the trio fell into step behind them as the bannerman gave up the cry and the unit marched.

The town of Gwillikens was mid-sized, at least four times the size of Port Llast. The low wood and stone houses were arranged in circles around a tall thin tower in the centre of the town which served as both the Library and the temple; no walls surrounded the town nor could any guards be seen patrolling the outskirts. In fact, no guards could be seen anywhere but such was life here in Elysium. The River ran straight through the middle of the city, allowing the ferries and merchants ease of access and movements. Gwillikens was populated mostly by humanoids; Elves, humans, half-elves, gnomes, aasimars, halflings - they were all here.

As the marching unit came to the first house, a slender Elven woman peered out of her window, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Oh! Guardinals." She waved them over. "Hail! Rumors had it that there was an encampment not far from here. What news?"

Torio pushed herself to the front of the formation, tilting her head back and squinting up at the woman hanging from the window. "War's coming," she called. "Fiends of Baator; Prince Talisid has the army camped not far, but you best prepare yourselves; we are here to fortify your defenses." She gestured back towards the guardinals behind her. A few humans in the street had stopped speaking to one another and were looking at her, their faces curious.

One of them walked towards her, a shorter man with greying reddish hair. "Baator, you say? Aye, we've heard rumors of creatures dissappearin', kidnapped by the devils. So it's about to break out, is it?" He turned, and called to one of the women behind him. "Get Squire Sirrow, lass! He'll want to talk to these folk." The man turned back around, walking over to where Torio stood. "I'll lead you folks to the inn, it's the only place we've got that'll put up the lot of you." He nodded to the guardinals. "Our town is yours; follow me."

The man guided them through the narrow streets, seeming to gather up more and more curious people as they walked, until they stood in front of a charming, two story inn - The Drunken Duck. A tall, thin scarecrow of a man with a fancy looking hat came running up to them from the other direction, "Emissaries! I am Squire Sirrow! Please, let us sit in the tavern of the inn and speak true."

The entered the dimly lit tavern, which was empty at this time of day. A half-elf quickly waved them in. "The room is all yours! Please, help yourself to anything you need..."

The squire sat directly across from Torio, Brandobras and the ursinal, a great female by the name of Lend. "So...war. The people here know very little about war. Just tell us what to do."

Lend leaned forward, the chair creaking under her weight. "I would like to browse your Library; there is much we still need to learn about Baator and their methods. Otherwise, stockpile supplies, food and water, keep the people together, prepare the shelters... Most of the guardinals I think, will prefer to sleep outside, along the River or the outskirts. But..." She grinned at Torio and Brandobras. "There are others, I am sure, who will appreciate your hospitality."

Torio nodded. "A bed would be preferred." She smiled thinly at the Squire. "I'll need to take a look at your library, too..." Here she glanced wryly at Lend. "Although I'm sure you can handle anything we might need to know, information wise." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But the way your town is set up already lends it a decent defense. I would prefer to post a few of the guardinals on rooftops, if we can?" She shot a questioning eyebrow at Lend. She had no clue to who was in charge, or if being Talisid's "Ambassador" gave her any sort of commanding power; _but to hells with it._ She was tired, dirty, somewhat hungry, cold, wet, and separated from the one person that had ever meant anything to her while he was involved in who knows what.

_Bring on the hells. The gods know they'll have me to deal with._

"As for the tower, we'll need to fortify it; if it comes down to it, it will be the only thing we'll be able to retreat to. While the town is easily defensible, you have a multitude of weaknesses that will make you vulnerable to attack, and we should prepare for the worst possible outcome." Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the table. "I'd suggest a night's rest, first, of course, but in the morning we mustn't waste any time."

Lend nodded at Torio. "Your expertise is warfare, Ambassador. I will advise you on fiendish tactics when I have more information. But what you suggest is sound. The lupinals are formidable archers; shall we put them on the rooftops?"

Brandobras slipped off the chair and walked over to the bar where he poured a few glasses of ale before returning, "I'll help with the supplies. If you can keep a halfling fed, you can keep a whole town fed!"

The squire looked relieved, "I can't thank you enough for helping with all this. We really don't know how to handle these threats; we've relied on the Guardinals...and now to think the battle is coming to us... " He wrung his hands nervously. "Very well; please go up to your rooms and rest or explore the city! I will have messengers send word out to all the citizens. We'll be ready for whatever the hells can throw at us!"

Their rooms were small but comfortable; Torio could hear Brandobras whooping with joy through the thin walls that separated their rooms, and her mouth quirked in a half-hearted smile as she dropped her packs. The armor fell off in a scattered trail to the small bathing room attached to her room. Boots, trousers, tunic, belt, everything fell off of her in a clattering shower of clothing. There was clear, tepid water already settled into the porcelain tub, and she quickly heated the flat, pale rocks on the brazier before dropping them into the tub, hearing the water _hissss _with the sudden heat...

..._ they hissed into the tin tub, and she ran her hands over her scars as the water heated..._

Torio blinked, shook her head briefly at the clinging memory, and carefully slipped into the water, sighing at heat seared through her skin. The porcelain was still chilled as she sat on it, and she began scrubbing herself down, her fingers sliding gently over the smooth slickness of her stomach and across the plane of her back. A harsh, painful ache shot through her, and she gripped the side of the tub for a moment, breathing hard.

_...She'd gripped the edges of the tub, his body beneath and against her, his voice playfully offering her a lifetime guarantee…_

Torio let out a short, frustrated cry, her fingers gripping one of the flat stones underneath her in the water. Her arm cocked back and it flew, spectacularly, across the small bathroom, crashing against the polished steel mirror and cracking it straight down the middle. Water splashed over the side from her antics, and she buried her face in her hands, the only sound in the small bathroom that of her ragged breathing.

When she walked back down into the common room a long time later, the fire was cracking in the hearth. The half-elven inkeeper looked up from behind the bar. "Somethin' to drink, miss?"

"Wine."

He reached for an elegantly curved bottle and a small, fluted glass, but she reached across the bar. "Just the bottle."

A few minutes later, with a bottle of wine tucked under her arm, she left the inn and headed towards the tall tower that housed more books she could read in a night.


	16. Chapter 16

**Volume 3, Chapter 16 – Sand: Whatever You Please  
**

Nivarra smiled, seated at the small table in her foyer, a veritable feast spread before her. "Welcome back," She said purringly. She gestured towards the chair across from her.

Sand slowly made his way to the chair, sitting down and nearly sinking back entirely. The cushion felt wonderful; it felt better than any king's or lord's mattress he could ever hope to sleep in. He met her eyes and said simply, "It...it is good to be back, mistress." Sand realized with a shock that it was a relief to be back to her chambers; to be sitting at a table again and surrounded to the comforts he was so used to, to not see a whip in sight. He was even...

_...happy..._

…to see Nivarra again, her shrewd eyes and rosy lips a beautiful contrast to the cook, Master Yune and Hipshari.

Nivarra gestured; her maidservant moved forward, and began pouring wine in a glass, setting it before Sand. "I'm sure you're hungry," she said dryly. "By all means, slave, dig in." She swirled the wine in her own glass, watching him; his face looked slightly pinched, the relief in his eyes evident; she could see the tears in his robes, the blood stains and jagged fabric, even though the skin that flashed underneath it was smooth. "It is good to be back, isn't it? And to think, you wanted to escape last night so desperately."

She took another swallow of wine, and set her glass down, her eyes gleaming craftily. As the maidservant placed food on Sand's plate and set it before him, she stood, moving behind his chair. He smelled of sweat and blood, dust clinging to him from the ground outside, his lovely, silken, elven hair matted and hanging in clumps. She traced a finger around the edge of the collar still around his neck. "You see, slave...things could be much worse for you than they are now. Out there you were nothing more than an object that took up space, a body with which the heads of our household completed certain tasks. A true slave; mindless and nearly useless. With me..." She pulled something from the pocket of her dress, "You can be fully appreciated as what you are."

With a _click!, _the little key turned in the lock of his collar, and her cold, deft fingers pulled it away from his neck, dropping it to the floor at Sand's feet.

Sand nearly cried out with relief and joy when she took the collar off. All his magic, his skill came rushing back to him in a torrent of emotions. He could feel the magic infuse him again, feel the faint crackle of energy settle on his body. He felt _whole_ again. Without thinking, he caught Nivarra's fingers in his and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, whispering gratefully, "Thank you, dear girl."

He straightened, letting her go and picked up the wine glass, draining it completely before putting it back down on the table. The food from the servants' quarters did little to ease his hunger and he began eagerly eating what was put before him, mentally thanking the slaves he knew who had made it. "Yes, mistress, I understand now how...lucky... I am. I do hope you've forgiven me for me...past transgressions."

Nivarra smiled to herself, glancing up at her maidservant dismissively. The woman bobbed her head and slipped to the door; she barely made a sound as she left the room. "Of course," she said soothingly, her hand coming up and stroking a few matted strands of hair back from Sand's face as he ate. She began lightly rubbing his ear between her fingertips, her voice deceptively warm, reassuring. "You'll stay with me from now on; there will be no need to send you back with the other servants ever again, as long as you behave."

Something was occurring to her as she stroked the pointed tip of his ear, and her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "When you're finished eating, the guard will take you to the washroom. When you return, you will come to my bedroom; we will have much to discuss after that..." She leaned down and nuzzled the side of his head, her voice silky, "...you and I."

Sand nearly dropped the fork when she began gently touching him. Her fingers felt heavenly, especially after the cruel mistreatment from the others. "Yes mistress - I'd much prefer staying with you than Hipshari. You smell infinitely better." He looked up at her, his blue eyes light, "Even if it means getting kicked from the bed every morning." Her foot would feel like a feather after the sting of Hipshari's whip and the bruise of Yune's cane.

He bent over his plate of food, savoring the roasted meats and vegetables. He poured himself another glass of wine. When he was done eating, Sand stood and was escorted to the bathing room where he peeled off the robe. Holding it up in front of him, he examined the various rips and tears and shuddered. The hot water that had been prepared for him felt marvelous on his aching muscles and he sighed, contentedly. He began scrubbing the dirt, dust and blood from him...

..._his memory flashed back to sitting in the tin tub with Torio, wiping the blood from her scarred back, her small frame bent and crouched before him... they had made love after, the water splashing magnificently around them..._

He was gripping the cloth tightly and willed his fingers to relax. He had to stop living in the past; he had to be concerned with his present state and his potential future survival. He had to let her and her memory go.

_Goodbye Torio. I love you._

Sand stood from the bath, drying himself off with a towel. He eyed the shredded robe disdainfully and instead pulled on a bathrobe, tousling his clean hair. He was escorted back into Nivarra's room, where she waited. "I...ah...appear to be in need of another robe. And then, shall we discuss your business?"

Nivarra was seated on the edge of her bed, examining a piece of parchment between her fingers; she glanced up when Sand entered, and gestured him over. "Here, slave; Guard! Bring my wizard a robe." The guard left, and she waited as Sand approached her. She held out the parchment, her eyebrows lifting slightly. "I know my father has you gaining entry into the stores every day, slave," she said evenly. "I have a list, here, of...components that I need you to acquire for me." She narrowed her eyes at him warningly. "Slowly, mind you; one or two per day. My father keeps a tight count on everything in there, but I have...methods of distracting the storekeeper." She reached out, absently fingering a strand of Sand's wet hair. "We must work slow, but we...I...don't have much longer to wait. Do not fail me in this, slave; if you succeed we'll both be more powerful than your dreams could possibly fathom."

Sand memorized the list quickly and then dropped it over an open candleflame, watching the fire lick hungrily at the dry parchment. "Your father has allowed you to escort me; that solves half the problem. But if I'm caught? Will it be my hide that it is taken out on?" He stared off into space, thinking. "Well, mistress, you have a mage of considerable talents at your disposal. Why not take advantage of him - I mean, more than you already do? Invisibility spells, silence spells, and a simple _Knock_ spell should get us into the stores easily enough at night, without having to deal with that troublesome storekeeper or your father whatsoever."

He found himself delighting in planning with her, feeling for a moment, like her equal. The word _mistress _was even to him, taking on a bit of an endearing curve. Sand knew that if she succeeded she would be quite powerful; he worried slightly about her control. Heavens forbid, Qara was enough of an idiot girl with enough power to burn all of Faerun down - what would Nivarra do, with the powers of the dark goddess at her disposal? And there was the tiny issue of the fact that Shar by virtue of her dogma, loathed Mystra.

_Just two teeny problems there, Sand. And a third if you consider your continued survival._

A dangerous game indeed.

Nivarra tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on Sand. The elf had a quick mind; he'd have to, to be a wizard of any repute, but he was a sly thinker as well. A talented slave...or possibly an ally? "If you're positive you can pull it off, wizard; we'll still have to remove small portions at a time, but..." her eyes became unfocused for a moment, her voice breathless, "...yes...it might just work, and with plenty of time to spare, as well."

The guard re-entered the room, a black silk rob folded neatly under one arm. Nivarra glanced at him and gestured, waving her hand. "Put it on the chair, and leave us." She ran a hand through Sand's damp hair, her eyes dark. "The slave will be needing it right away, won't he?"

Sand reached out and tentatively touched her cheek with the back of his finger. Her skin was dry, lukewarm, taut over her thin face. Torio's had been always hot to the touch, the womanly curves of her body reflected in the fullness of her cheeks. "I suppose I should say I only need what my mistress commands of me?"

Her hazel eyes snapped back into focus on his face once again, and she smiled slightly, her face hard and her voice slightly warm. "Well, well, slave...you've certainly gained a nice new view on things." She leaned forward, kissing him commandingly; for some reason or another, her small, black heart was beating wildly, and she pushed him away from her. "Get dressed! We go now, tonight; we have no time to waste. Cast what you need to when you're ready, and be quick about it."

His lips tingled where she had kissed him so forcefully; she was a strange girl, kissing him one minute and then shoving him away the next.

_Crazy Luskan harpy_. But his heart really wasn't into the insult; she was Nivarra. It was simply a part of who she was and Sand had come to a sort of reluctant acceptance and understanding of that. Better understand and predict that she was unstable and deal with it than to be preternaturally surprised and caught off guard by it.

Sand slid off the bed and made his way over to the chair where the black silk clothing; he glanced over his shoulder at Nivarra and then shrugged the bathrobe off, letting it fall to the floor...

_(Just like he had done for Torio at the Seven Sails Inn before they went to Asrar's...)_

He quickly dressed in the fine robes, the silk sliding coolly over his clean skin. Rummaging through his component pouches, he found the now familiar pieces of gum arabic and an eyelash, needed for the _Invisibility_ spells. "Ready?"

Nivarra bent to remove her heeled slippers, quickly pulling on the soft-soled shoes she usually wore for her later night excursions. She straightened, and was caught by the sight of her slave wizard shrugging his bathrobe off, giving her a full view of his nude, lithe, and perfectly proportioned backside.

Her eyebrows went up as she watched him dress, eyes narrowed slightly. _What game was he playing?_ She was completely positive that she now had the elf firmly within her grasp...yet an irrational quickening of her pulse followed the brief, arrogant, confident gesture, when he had simply shrugged out of a garment.

Her mouth tightened in a firm line. "Cast," she said sharply.

"When I cast _Silence_ on us, we will not be able to speak to each other; we'll have to stay close during the duration of our little adventure." He first cast the _Invisibility _spell on her, watching her pop out of view and then upon himself. He centered the _Silence_ spell on him which was entirely selfish of him: he had no illusions about what would happen if he were caught. He reached out, finding her hand and guided her towards the door, opening it slowly. He peered out; the guard standing there was half-dozing and he slipped through the narrow opening, pulling the girl out behind him. He squeezed her hand, encouraging her to lead them to the storerooms.

Nivarra pulled Sand past the guard, her skin crawling at the slightly eerie sound of...well, nothing. She was used to her skirts swishing authoritatively when she moved, and the silence felt thick, almost oppressive; she was almost convinced herself that there was no one in the hall.

They approached the storeroom; the guard pacing up and down the hallway in front of the door had apparently just relieved his predecessor, for he looked fresh and alert. The door was also rather discouragingly shut tight.

_No words._ She squeezed Sand's hand, once, sharply, and then moved behind him, gripping the back of his robes in her hands so he could cast. Her anxiety was mounting; she had no illusions about what her father would to do her...to _both_ of them, if they were caught.

Underneath it was a rising, curious excitement. _But if they weren't caught_... the guard was turning away from them, pacing back down to the end of the hall...

Sand dispelled the _Silence_ spell, keeping his eye on the back of the guard walking away from them. He turned to the lock and muttered the simple incantation for the _Knock_ spell. There was a satisfying click as the mechanics of the lock undid itself. He then cast a second _Silence_ spell on Nivarra; he would need to be able to speak to cast any additional spells but staying closer to her would keep them silent. The guard had reached the end of the hall and was looking left and right at the junction. Sand pulled the door open and bolted through, feeling Nivarra's fingers holding his robes. His heart was racing; this was incredibly risky - trying to please Nivarra and not incur the wrath of her father. The two seemed to automatically go hand in hand. The door was shut behind them; before them were shelves upon shelves of components.

Sand considered what he could take and then opted for the less risky things: powders instead of single items like eggs and feathers. Those would have to wait. Still holding Nivarra's hand, he scanned the shelves until he found the jar containing crushed moonbeam crystals. With painstaking care, he lifted the lid and took out the smallest fraction of a spoonful, pouring it into a pouch and watching it vanish. He moved onto the next component, powdered ankheg shells, and then grounded up orma leaves. He carefully took nearly half a dozen components, each time taking less than what would be noticeable until he felt he could risk no more. He squeezed her hand again.

Nivarra turned, pushing the door open the barest sliver; the guard was walking towards them, and she sank back almost immediately, waiting with bated breath as the guard paused outside the door...after a rather laden pause, the armored man moved onward, and Nivarra carefully pushed the door open, pulling Sand put behind her...

The guard stopped again, and half-turned; Nivarra's fingers spasmed in panic and the door slipped from her grasp, slamming shut with a bang loud enough that she was sure the entire city of Luskan heard. She cursed soundlessly, and tugged Sand away from the door, moving swiftly towards the other end of the hall. She threw them around the corner as the guard moved towards the door suspiciously, pulling it open and peering into the storeroom.

Shite and hells! She grabbed the front of Sand's robes, shaking them silently; she needed to be visible, and quickly...

The bang of the door caused him to jump a mile in the air if it were a foot. He felt his heart leapt into his throat and for a blind, panicky moment, he saw himself back in the kitchens, scrubbing until his arms fell off, being beaten by Hipshari...

But Nivarra was pulling him away from the guard who was now hoisting his sword in the air, looking left and right. She was shaking him; what in Mystra's name did she want? Clearly not to run, otherwise she would have done it already.

Hoping he was guessing her motives correctly, Sand dispelled the _Silence_ and the _Invisibility_ spell on her and stepped back from her. He began preparing a _Charm Person_ spell just in case...

"_Go,_" She hissed. "Back to the rooms, and wait for me by the door." She smoothed the front of her dress, and turned back around the corner, walking casually down the hall as if she were coming from the opposite direction.

The guard caught sight of her, and Nivarra noticed with pleased satisfaction that his face paled almost instantly. He snapped to attention, the storeroom door shutting loudly as he straightened, saluting her smartly. "My Lady!"

Her voice was cold. "Is there a problem with my father's storeroom?"

The man stared at some point above her head. "The door was open, my lady; I was merely checking..."

"_Checking_?" She snapped. "Are you not a guard? How did the door open on your watch?"

"I...don't know, my lady..."

"Fool!" She lifted her hand, as if to strike him, and the man flinched. She waited for a moment, and then curled her fingers back into her palm, shaking her head. "My father will fire you," she said evenly. "I will make sure of it. Be grateful that I'm in a merciful mood this night."

"Yes, lady!"

She turned and walked back down the hallway, her heart pounding in her ears. The guard would be gone in the morning; if her father asked, she would merely say the man quit, and the lout wouldn't be around to start any rumors. _And they had her components..._

Sand turned and walked gingerly along, having run out of _Silence_ spells. Every time his robes brushed against the floors, or around a corner, he froze and cringed. It was no wonder wizards never did any sort of truly stealthy activities - the clothing simply didn't allow for it. At this rate he would have to start wearing fitted clothing regularly just to avoid detection and a beating.

He reached her door and hovered around it. The guard posted was still half asleep but Sand didn't dare open it. He pressed himself against the wall and waited for Nivarra.

Nivarra came within sight of her rooms, seeing the guard still slumped against the wall, half-awake. At the sound of her approaching, he snapped upright, blinking at her owlishly.

"I thank the gods every night that you watch over me," she said caustically, yanking her door open. She eyed the guard for a moment, waiting, hoping Sand was nearby. "If you can't stay awake at your post, I'm sure I can replace you; send you onto the walls, maybe?"

The man straightened even further. "No, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We'll see." She entered her rooms, shutting her door behind her quickly, and exhaling in relief.

"Sand," she said sharply into the darkness, waiting for him to dispel the enchantments on himself.

Sand dispelled the invisibility on him and then held up the small satchels containing the ingredients. "I would suggest you hide this, mistress. And not in my chambers because if I'm caught with it, you know I'll be punished and I won't be able to access the stores again. And that will make our plans more difficult than they already are."

He sat on the edge of the cushioned chair at the table. "Satisfied thus far with your slave? Let's hope your father or the storekeeper both don't notice what has been taken."

Nivarra waved her hand dismissively, reaching out and snagging the satchels from Sand's hands. "I will handle my father," she said eagerly, opening one and peering inside. He'd grabbed quite a few different items; maybe one more trip would have them with all that they needed, at least the bare necessities. She could possibly take the wizard out and have him identify some of the more mundane components needed in the shops around Luskan instead of risking her father's storeroom again...

_It was really happening._

She needed to meet with the Priesthood again...but in the meantime...

"Go memorize my father's list of spells," she said sharply, her eyes gleaming as she looked down at Sand. Her fingers twitched out, stroking the side of Sand's cheek almost tenderly. "And come back when you're done." She lightly slid a strand of Sand's hair along her fingers as she turned, and moved into her bedroom, the satchels clutched in her hands.

Sand gave a quick nod and entered his chambers. As usual there was a sheet of parchment with a list of spells. He sat cross legged on his thin mattress, flipping through the pages, idly stroking the pages of his spellbook. The thought of never being able to cast a single spell again, not even a simple cantrip - it made him feel emptier and more frightened than he cared to admit. It would have preferred it if somebody had cut off a leg instead (but mostly only because he knew of spells that would restore such a limb...)

Nearly an hour later he emerged from the room and entered Nivarra's bedchambers. "Mistress?"

Nivarra had just closed her secret study a few moments before Sand entered; she said, sharply, "Come here and get in, already; do you think my sheets will warm themselves?" She pulled back the blankets on her bed, and then turned, sitting at her vanity and brushing out her hair. Her face was calm, placid, her strokes sharp and even, but there was a tense, wired anticipation that clung to her even as she relaxed, the boar-bristle brush sliding through the thin strands of hair and smoothing them down completely.

_Soon you'll have all the beauty of Shar, and even the greatest Overmages will be no match for you..._

"Tell me, slave," She said absently, catching Sand's reflection in her mirror from across the room, "Was your Ambassador able to promise you such power that I could hold? Was she able to secure high places for you, wherever you could dream of on this world? And maybe even beyond..." She inhaled deeply, almost reverentially, her eyes glittering. "Just think...Luskan is a hole compared to some of the finer cities in the south. Once I have the backing of the Hosttower I could travel anywhere..._we _could travel anywhere..." She smirked into the mirror. "Torio Claven was a fool, assuming her words alone would get her where she wanted. A woman must know how to use those around her...don't you agree, little tool?"

Sand pulled the silken robes from his shoulders, and draped it over the chair. He was wearing only a thin, simple cotton undertunic and loose trews. He stared down at the ground by the chair, where the silver collar still lay, a seemingly innocuous manacle, before looking at Nivarra through the mirror. "I never asked Torio for anything except her company. And she promised not to kill me, for which I am grateful. At the time, neither of us were in the position to think much on power. Things have changed, dear girl."

He stepped up behind Nivarra and placed his hands on her narrow shoulders, feeling the lukewarmth of her skin and continuing to look at her by her reflection. "Women all have their ways of using those around them; some use their beauty, others their wits and still others their guile." He rested his chin on top of her head for a moment and then snorted, walking to the bed, "And still others use all three." He climbed under the sheets, turning to face her and propping his head up in his hand and watching her shrewdly.

Nivarra chuckled, turning to face him on her chair. "Flattery, slave?" Her chin rested on her hand, both propped on the back of her chair as she watched him, considering. "Perhaps I should place you under Housemaster Yune's gentle care more often; you seemed to have gained a refreshing perspective." She stood from the chair gracefully, untying the ribbon on her gown; the light garment was shrugged of her shoulders, and she moved to the bed, wearing only her shift. The mattress sank slightly as she added her weight to Sands, poising herself over his body.

She looked down at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "But of course, I might _miss_ you, little slave," she said silkily. "Should I send you away again, do you think? Or should I keep you here?" She bent her head down, pressing her mouth against his neck in a light trail of kisses.

Sand chuckled, watching the side of her head, her lips surprisingly pleasant on his tired body. "Someone like you would never miss_ me_." Her soft hair was trailing ticklishly against his skin. "Miss what I could do for you, miss using me, perhaps." He brushed a strand of hair back over her ear so he could better see her face. "Send me away, keep me here - it doesn't matter what I think, now, does it? You'll do whatever you please. Heavens help those who stand in your way, mistress."

Her questions about Torio had sent tiny, dagger-like piercings through him. He had always accused Torio of being so very Luskan and yet he was realizing that her actions had always been driven on by a desire to survive and find a place for herself that didn't involve selling her body. Sure, along the way, she had helped wipe out an entire village and nearly gotten him and all his friends killed...

Nivarra, on the other hand, already had a made and comfortable life, a mansion she could inherit and servants and guards at her beck and call. Her drive for power was merely out of insatiable lust.

_Oh Sand, speaking of insatiable lust..._

Nivarra chuckled into Sand's skin, her fingers tugging at the laces of his tunic. "You would do well to remember such," She breathed out against his ear; her mouth closed around its pointed tip and she worked slowly on his clothes. His words were offhanded, true, but she had seen his face when her father had revealed the collar in his study that morning...

And she had seen his reaction when she had finally removed it.

"There might be a day, wizard, when you may do whatever you please, as well," she muttered; his tunic fell open under her fingers, and she slid her hands along his chest, his skin almost cold against her touch. "Insurmountable power can be lonely; I'd have much to offer you, little slave."

Sand felt his nipples harden under her fingers and he arched his back slightly under her hands. He reached up and pulled her to him, pressing her body to his chest. "Really, girl. And what would you offer me once you have solidified your position within the Hosttower? A prettier alchemical bench? Silk robes? A place beside you in your bed? I think I have all that already." His mouth found hers; he kissed her lips as his hands began lifting the nightdress up over her torso, wriggling the fabric between them. His voice was joking yet poignant, "Do you have another offer, mistress?"

"You have 'all that', as you put it, wizard," she breathed, lifting her arms slightly so that the shift could be pulled up over her head. "But I can take them away at any minute; as you so ardently put it, I may do whatever I like, yes?" She slid a hand between his legs, rubbing along the hardening flesh she found there; her fingers began stroking him through the fabric, lightly teasing.

"The Hosttower is merely..." she kissed down across his chest, "...a stepping stone, my pet. There are other places we will reach, once I have...obtained that which I am looking for." Her tongue flicked out against one small, pale nipple, circling his flesh expertly as she fell silent for a moment. She closed her mouth around it and nipped the stiffened tip, before looking up at the underside of his face from where she lay across him. "I would be powerful enough to remove the Brotherhood's geas...but I would only do such a thing, of course, if I was guaranteed your loyalty." Her fingers gripped him firmly between the legs, fingertips stretching down and finding where the soft, firming sac fell between his thighs; she began massaging it lightly, her eyes dark as she looked up towards him.

Sand felt the lust shoot from the tip of his hardening shaft right through to the top of his head. But that's all it was: lust - lust and desire for a gentle touch after a day of physical anguish. He lifted his hips off the bed, pressing himself into her hands. "And how would I guarantee my loyalty, mistress?" He ran his hands down her naked back, letting his fingers trace the top of her backside. He kissed her jawline, the sharp smell of mint pervading his nostrils. "We're Luskanites. Our word doesn't exactly mean much and you know this."

She laughed against his throat, her fingers flicking through the laces of his trews. "Words, words...you know as much as I do that power speaks louder than words." She slid her hand between his body and the waist of his trews, feeling how the heat had gathered at the apex of his thighs; she began stroking him under the fabric, the fingers of her other hand sliding up and rubbing the edge of his ear. "I could give you endless power; endless, do you understand?" Her voice took on a sharp tone. "Forget what _Mystra _might lend you, slave...I could give you infinitely more, more than the goddess herself grants you. Words...ha!" She arched her chin against his kisses, half-shutting her eyes. "You would be a fool not to remain loyal to me, little tool. Would you turn your back on such power?"

Sand pressed his mouth against her neck. "What devious plans do you have, mistress, that would garner you such power?" His heart was racing, both from her slow taunting revelations and her mind-maddening teasing touches. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once; his ears, around his hard member, his chest, his hair. He whimpered, frustrated, breathing hard; Sand reached down and began pulling his trews down as best he could with Nivarra on top of him. "My dear girl, I can't even seem to turn my back on you now, as it is."

Nivarra lifted her body slightly, helping him push his trousers down. She felt a rush of excitement at the small, helpless sounds the elf was making beneath her. "There is never a need to turn your back on me, slave...a wizard like you would do better keeping their eye on the prize." She pushed his trousers down off the bed with her foot, and then swung them around, so that Sand was lying on top of her. "But should I turn my back on you? An escape attempt already, and not even here a full ten-day...I think you owe me, little slave. You've paid your debt to my father, through Hipshari's whip, I suspect." She nudged her legs apart, toying with the fingers of one of his agile hands. "Now pay me." She watched him coolly, taking the tip of his finger and drawing it into her mouth, sucking on it gently.

Sand stared down at her, feeling incredibly aroused at the sight and feel of her wet mouth on his finger. "Now, dearest mistress, you can't expect a free elf like myself to take to bondage immediately. But I've certainly learned how foolish I was." He wiggled himself between her legs, rubbing the head of his shaft along her wet folds, teasing her. "I would hate to stay indebted to you." He pushed just the tip of him inside her, feeling her tightness and moaned raggedly, kissing her shoulder with loud, hungry kisses. He grabbed her hips and pushed himself in entirely, "Oh sweet gods..."

Nivarra lifted her hips up to meet him, arching off of the bed. "The gods," she moaned, "have nothing to do with it." She bent her knees slightly, opening her hips up farther so that he could sink into her body. She moved his hand from her mouth, tracing his fingers along her throat and collar bone and down to her small, rounded breast, where she pressed his palm hard against the slight rising mound. "They certainly aren't looking after you here; not one can protect you, slave." She pushed against him, the bed creaking slightly as her hips ground against his. "Except me, when I choose to."

Sand gripped her breast greedily, toying with the nipple. "Then let me hope that I can stay in your good graces and protection..." He thrust once, hard into her, feeling her damp furrow hug his manhood and he had to pause, and take a steadying breath.

_Finishing now would definitely not earn her favor..._

He kissed the side of her neck and nipped her earlobe, taking the small piece of flesh between his teeth. He pressed his cheek to her and thrust again, sliding all the way in before pulling all the way out. The heat of her skin was burning him up. She was a dangerous woman and Sand knew it was only a matter of time before she consumed everything in her path in a way that Qara would find envious.

His fingers tightened their grip on her flesh, digging in as he drove forward again with quick, sharp movements, the well-made headboard of her elaborate bed barely a whisper in time to his motion. The candles in her room were burning low; he could see her face cast in shadows as the moon shone through the gauzy curtains. He bit down firmly on her neck, breathing out, "Turawen." _Mistress_...

Nivarra's head rolled back against the pillow, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips as his teeth sank into her neck. Her fingers slid down along his back, clenching around his backside; she let her fingers dig into his skin mercilessly, pressing into his flesh, pulling him harder into her body. Her hair was sticking lightly to the back of her neck and shoulders as a light sheen of perspiration shone over her skin, her insides heating and coiling steadily as he thrust into her.

He was moving slowly, taking his time; she lifted one leg languidly and slid it around his waist, clutching him to her with her hands...she carefully, deliberately, ran her fingernails up his spine, biting her lip against the outcry that threatened in her throat as he slid over a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh...like that," she whispered raggedly. "Again, slave."

Sand looked down at her; in the darkness he could see her pupils dilated fully as she stared breathlessly up at him. Her fingers on his spine was sending chilling, electrical streams through his back. Sand couldn't decide if it was pleasant or unpleasant. "Of course, mistress. Anything for you." He let himself slip inside her again, rocking his hips back and forth as he burrowed his thickened shaft into her. He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling himself engorge further. He lifted his hips, lifting her off the bed with him and then dropped his body down, impaling her to her fine mattress.

_Oh Nivarra, you spoiled brat. You have everything already and yet you still want more..._

Sand groaned loudly and then whimpered, fighting off the climax that was building inside of him. He wouldn't put it past her to have him punished for a lack of stamina between the sheets, damnable Luskan demon that she was. He pressed his mouth to hers, forcing her lips apart, and ran his hands through her hair, feeling the slickness of the slight sweat on her skin. He pulled himself out completely again, hovering in the air, feeling the heat between her legs almost pulsating against his tip before inserting himself roughly into her again.

This time, Nivarra did cry out, her body arching unbearably into his as Sand drove inside of her; his shaft pulsed with heat, throbbing against her walls as he slid in and out, every shifting thrust causing her loins to clench rhythmically. She let out a longing whimper, her eyes half-shut, and pushed back against the mattress, rolling them over once more. They had gone from one side of the bed to nearly the other in their antics, and Nivarra stretched up, straightening her back as she settled on top of him.

_So close..._ She loved the feeling of him stretched beneath her, his dark hair spilling back from his pale, intense face; his eyes glittered up at her, hard and dark with lust, his mouth slightly parted. There were sharp, deepened lines around his eyes; for a moment she caught her breath in her throat, seeing not a paltry plaything, a toy to be used and discarded, but a powerful creature, much older...much wiser than she, agelessly beautiful and timelessly intelligent. How old was he? How many years had he lived, perfecting magical skills she couldn't begin to comprehend?

She realized breathlessly, as she began mercilessly driving against him, that she was playing a dangerous game. She had him, lock and key, bound and bled. The gods help her if he ever got loose...

She exhaled forcefully, her head arching back as her body tensed; her hips were smacking against his, pinning him against the bed, and she grit her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut...the climax rolled over her suddenly, her walls clenching around his shaft and sending sharp bolts of pleasure up her spine. His name tore from her lips, and she ground against him mercilessly, wanting to take, take, take...all of him, everything, even his name; she would take it all, own it, control it, possess it...he would forget he ever had a lover, forget than any other person existed in this world except for her...

Sand lay beneath her, his breath heaving as she rode him fiercely, his back arching up to meet her fully and pressing his head into her down pillow. His hands traced a path from her knees, up her pale thighs, across her stomach to her breasts. He gave a strangled cry as she pressed him to the bed with the force of her onslaught, fighting off the building tautness when suddenly he heard his name, loud and clear, from her tongue.

He stared at her for a moment, the lusty haze lifting from his blue eyes, time seeming to slow. Her head was tossed back, her brown hair flying back, fanning around her face. Her eyes were shut intensely, her pink lips parted around his names, her back arched so that her upturned breasts caught the pale moonlight streaming through the window.

And then her climax took him, her wet sex contracting and drawing him deeper and deeper in until he gave a long, wordless moan. He grabbed her hips and forced her down, around his organ, as the rhythmic pulsations began, sending his essence into her very core. His whole body shuddered as he thrashed against the mattress, every muscle seeming to tighten and tense until finally he broke in a torrent of hot blissful spasms. He sighed, loosening his grip on her body as he pressed his cheek into the pillow; he remained under her, utterly drained into her and exhausted...

Nivarra let her weight pull her forward, sprawling onto the bed next to Sand, her breathing heavy as the last ebbing traces of her orgasm fled through her skin. She sighed languidly, stretching her arms over her head. "I suppose I forgive you, slave." She slipped carefully under the blankets, the sweat cooling on her skin, pulling back the sheets and tossing them haphazardly over Sand's body, as well.

After a moment, she curled up against him, pulling his arm around her shoulders and resting her face against his chest. "Try not to move too much," she said drowsily, shutting her eyes. "We'll have a long day tomorrow, slave."

She fell asleep, the wizard on the bed next to her merely her tool once again, her toy. His skin was unnaturally cool, tingling slightly with the magic that she knew was inherent beneath it.

Sand pulled her closer, watching her breathing become deeper and deeper. Using his free hand, he gently brushed the hair off her face, letting the soft strands drift through his fingers. He traced her jawline, watching the slight frown that creased her forehead, before letting his fingers trail down her throat. His blue eyes sharpened as he stared consideringly at her exposed neck, feeling her pulse beneath his fingertips.

He sighed and let his hand drop down to the bed.

_Not yet._

Sand closed his eyes and fell into the deepest sleep he had ever had, the hours of his long day of exertion dropping away as the night wore on.


	17. Chapter 17

**Volume 3, Chapter 17 – Torio: The Ambassador and the Historian**

The first floor of the tall tower was a temple dedicated to Pelor, the familiar yellow robed priests moving about quiet. A serene young man directed her to a side door that led up to a simple stone stairwell. Each Library floor was circular, with book shelves arranged like petals of a flower around a few central tables. There were private side rooms as well. The entire place was hushed, with quiet contemplative whisperings. An elf with dark bluish hair and silver eyes was sitting at the front table, his brow furrowed as he flipped through a book.

Torio paused in the doorway, watching the lone elf bent over the table. _A familiar scene, that._

She moved silently past the elf at the front tables and found one for herself towards the middle, staring at the shelves placed around her in appreciative awe. It wasn't too bad of a setup; she couldn't see Lend anywhere but she knew the ursinal was probably around. _Where to begin?_ The shelf closest to her covered theories on planar travel, the different layers of Elysium, flora and fauna...she walked to the next shelf; the titles _Warfare and civilization_ and _Small unit tactics_ caught her eye, and she pulled first one, then the other down with difficulty; what was it with the interesting tomes always being on the top shelf? _As if those under seven hands high wouldn't be bothered with such things._ She wondered if the more intriguing books at Crossroads Keep were always on the lower shelves because Sand put them there...

She wrestled with the cork in the wine bottle once she brought her books to her table; it resisted for a long period of time before finally shooting up into the air with a loud _pop!_ that made her wince. She glanced around before taking a long swig, cracking one of the tomes open on the table in front of her and beginning to read.

The elf looked up when he heard the cork being popped and turned in his seat. The human he had noticed come in was reading but she was also drinking from a very large bottle of wine. He glanced surreptitiously around; they were alone on the floor at the moment. As caretaker of the Library he was able to give certain exceptions to the rules...

He stood and made his way over to her. "I'm Saeldur. I am responsible for the Library. Ah...normally we do not allow our guests to drink wine here but given the times I'm sure I can make an exception. But my fair lady, perhaps I could show you one of our private rooms? Any other books you need to find?"

Torio looked up only a little guiltily as the elf began speaking to her. "Ah...I tend to prefer research on survival tactics and bloodshed with a little wine. I apologize." She glanced at one of the open doors to the side rooms. "It would be a bit more discreet if I broke the rules in private is that it...Saeldur, you said?" _Small evils for the greater good._

Saeldur laughed and said lowly, "You humans have a saying - discretion is the better part of valor. Well, let us be discreet with your imbibing." He grabbed the wine bottle from her hands as they made their way to the private study room, examining the label. "Ah, house wine from the Drunken Duck. How is it?" He sniffed the open bottle.

Her mouth twisted wryly, but she began gathering up the tomes in front of her; after a moment of thought, she frowned at the shelves. "I'm looking for anything that could help us, really; our lady ursinal is researching the devils themselves, but I'm supposed to provide some sort of insight on how we're not supposed to all perish if we attract too much attention." She moved around her chair and walked towards the side room, balancing the books as she went. "Tactics? Maneuvers? Past battles, maybe...anything that might help."

He watched the human settle down at her table, and placed the bottle in front of her. "Past battles! Oh yes, I can definitely help you with that, my dear...human. You wouldn't happen to have a name now, would you? I am also a historian; I have books, diaries, notes... I'm no bard but I could tell you about many of these. Wait here a moment."

Torio pulled a roll of parchment and an ink bottle and quill towards her from the end of the table, whetting her tongue with another swallow of wine as the elf disappeared to bring her more books. She hooked her legs up underneath her on the overlarge, stuffed chair; the side room was comfortable, with a handling candelabra chandelier and flickering sconces on the wall providing a decent amount of light. The far wall was curved slightly, no doubt following the circular shape of the tower, and the small window showed the evening landscape below her, the town dotted with lighted windows and open doorways.

When Saeldur returned, she touched the books lightly, opening one of the covers and peering inside. "Torio," she said absently. "My name is Torio." She glanced up at him, one eyebrow arched dryly. "And the wine is quite good; here." She held the bottle out to him. "Help yourself; I forwent glasses, I'm afraid." She propped the book against her lap, the top edge of the tome resting against the table. "You have experience in these types of wars, then? What can you tell me?"

Saeldur shot a look at the entrance way of the Library and then kicked the door to the small study room closed with his foot before taking a delicate drink from the wine bottle and passing it back to her. "Glasses, Torio, just mean more things that could possibly be knocked over and spilled onto the paper."

He unrolled one very large scroll. It was written in a decorative Elven script and he laid it across the table for her to see. "I have never fought in the wars but I have recorded the several of the battles. Here's an account of a war that was fought in Belierin... that's a level in Elysium that's made up of swamplands. For some reason, demons and devils are drawn here - they often use it as their entry point into Elysium but the guardinals are always vigilant about this. This battle was against demons...hezrous and vrocks. But not devils."

Saeldur rolled up that scroll and pulled out another. "What you will find interesting about battles between the Guardinals and those of the Lower Planes is that each warrior will depend upon the extreme good or the extreme evil of their spells and abilities but because of the opponents they face, it will often all balance out. Demons for example, have unholy auras but many of the guardinals can smite evil."

He sat down across from her, resting his chin in his hands. "Demons and devils can often regenerate; guardinals can often heal at will. Demons and devils can summon almost infinite underlings; guardinals have powerful spells that can render evil utterly impotent."

Saeldur flipped through a book, his face thoughtful. "The battles are always evenly matched. We have the advantage in that they have chosen to come to our plane where they will be weaker; but we do not know where they will strike, is this correct?" The elf fell silent as he read a few passages before taking another drink from the wine bottle. "Very well - here!" He shoved the book in her direction. "There's something to be said about fighting devils. Pit fiends almost always use the same patterns of attack. They summon help from baatezus, cast a few _Fireballs_ and _Hold Persons_, and then they like to use large area of effect spells such as _Meteor Swarm_. They'll always go after the most injured enemies first and they won't enter melee combat until they have to. And the cowards will run from battle of they're injured."

She watched him shrewdly, and a little sadly, as he spoke. His eyes flashed silver in the well-lit room, and his bluish-cast hair was much longer than Sand's, but for a moment she could almost pretend that they were in the Library of Crossroad Keep, and not in some far off tower in Amoria. That night seemed ages ago...

_Pay attention, Torio._

"Evenly matched, is it?" Torio took a thoughtful sip from the wine bottle, staring down at the page. "The houses and buildings are going to go fast, if they attack the way you say," she said quietly. "The circular pattern to the town is going to help fires spread, not hinder them." She glanced up at Saeldur over the top of the page. "How do you feel about fortifying this tower? It looks to be one of the most solid buildings in town; more likely than not we're going to be pressed back here." She pulled a blank piece of parchment in front of her, chewing on the end of the quill before dipping the tip into the ink and beginning to sketch. "So the outward buildings are going to take the brunt of the attack; they won't stand long, especially against fire. Maybe smaller forces on the ground, drawing the devils back into the center of the town while we have archers on the rooftops."

She leaned over the table, drawing skipped lines from house to house, scribbling madly over her own impromptu sketch. "They move from rooftop to rooftop, drawing them back, while the ground forces harass them below; it might be enough to goad them into melee combat, and if we could find something that they're vulnerable to..." _Lend would know._ "We wouldn't need to wipe them out utterly; we wouldn't be able to, not with this small force. But if we let the guardinals draw them to the tower, most of the villagers could find refuge here while the guardinals take the brunt of the attack, around a smaller, more controllable space." She frowned. "The downside to that is that we'll have all our eggs in one basket; if the tower goes down, then we'll all go down with it."

She sat back, rubbing her face. "We'll need a way to get a message to Talisid, then, as well. It's inevitable that the demons will barrel through the town; if we can slow them down a bit in the process, it'll give Prince Talisid more time to mobilize his army and bring them here, hopefully before we all perish." She grinned tiredly at Saeldur. "If they even come here. I could be doing all this work for nothing, while the devils attack another part of Amoria." She chuckled and took a long drink, setting the bottle down onto the table with a _clunk! _and looking over her hasty drawing, eyeing the haphazard scribbles. "By the gods...good luck to you if you can even decipher this come morning. I'll have to converse with the ursinal mage Lend, but it might give us a shot...what do you think?"

Saeldur stood, leaning over her quick sketch, frowning as he thought. "I wish we knew for sure when they were going to attack; we could evacuate many of our citizens to Eronia. It's not as nice on that level of Elysium with the unpredictable weather but it seems safer at the moment. But wouldn't retreating to the tower mean we become effectively surrounded if the entire city goes down?"

He reached out and patted her hand. "It is better to be prepared for a battle that never comes than to be caught unawares. I hope, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Torio, that all your efforts here are for naught and they do not attack Gwillikens. I do not think my books would stand up very well to fires. But if you believe that is the best course of action, that is what we shall do. Lend is on the upper floor; I believe she headed to the Library as soon as your unit arrived."

The elf began pacing the small room. "We don't even know the size of their army. There's so much we don't know. I hate not knowing and trying to plan around unknown contingencies."

Torio frowned at the books in front of her. "Yes, that's the main risk; we would be effectively trapped once we drew all their forces around the tower. Although it's also part of the plan; if we can hold here long enough for the army to arrive then we've effectively drawn _them _into a trap. They'll have us surrounded, and Talisid will have surrounded them. Not an advantageous place for the armies of Baator to be." She snorted. "I hope, at least."

Saeldur looked curiously at her. "You're an interesting choice for the Prince for tactician. Most of the time the Guardinals take all responsibility for warfare."

She took another drink of wine, stretching out on her chair. "I'm originally from Abeir-Toril," she said, staring at the bottle on the table as she set it back down. "I was an...Ambassador there." _And a prisoner, servant, lover, murderer..._ "The tactics we_..._that _I..._used were very different from what you're used to here, I suspect. The guardinals asked for my advice when word of the attack first spread, and when Talisid sent me here, he requested that I use whatever experience I had to aid the city." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "I suppose he's hoping pitting evil against evil will prove effective."

Saeldur smiled at her, his silver eyes flashing intelligently before answering, "Goodness and evil are relative terms, in my opinion. I was originally from Evermeet myself; my soul originally traveled to Eronia but I was called to Amoria to help with the construction of this Library." He took another drink of the wine and continued his ceaseless pacing. "Well, I like your plan. It's a plan that doesn't involve waiting in the middle of a battle fiend for Baator to show up."

After another few minutes of pacing and thinking, Saeldur sat back down. "All right; you'll want to tell the Squire and the priests of Pelor of your idea. We'll start moving the citizens, and supplies into the tower. You can keep this room as your own private chambers. But for now, shall I bring you up to see Lend?"

_Living in a Library?_ No wonder this place was heaven for some. Torio knocked back another swallow of wine and stood, brushing down her clothing and gesturing to the door. "Lead the way, Master Historian."

Saeldur led her up the stairs, up one flight then another until they reached the very top of the tower. Lend was the only one on the floor, taking up a few tables with her books and parchment. "Torio! Saeldur!" She motioned to a nearby seat. "No attack is ever led against Elysium without the knowledge of one of the Arch-Dukes of Baator. I expect, after the initial assault, the devil leading the attack will want to parley on behalf of his Lord. They love their bargains. If that is the case, then we must offer to negotiate to get more information and to buy our armies more time to gather to launch the counterassault."

Torio pinched the bridge of her nose. _It's going to be a long night._ "Has there been any indication as to what they want, exactly? What have they bargained for in the past?" She fingered a stray parchment in front of her as Saeldur took a seat next to her. "I know they've been kidnapping Guardinals and the like, but that seems to be more of a diversionary tactic than an indication of any real interest in the creatures; what would we have to offer them?" She smirked. "Or at least say that we have?"

Lend leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking ominously. "It is always difficult to say what they will want. They have asked for magical items, souls of petitioners, access to portals; they have asked for our inaction in certain cases where they have planned to attack another Plane and have known we would get involved..." She shrugged helplessly, her great furry shoulders rising and falling under her robes. "It is obvious they are not after petitioners since they have been kidnapping those."

Saeldur folded his hands primly on the table. "The guardinals won't bargain with them; Prince Talisid might. But we should send word out that anybody who comes in contact with an infernal emissary wanting to bargain should at least hear them out. That would give us information."

Torio snorted wryly. "That it would. We'll need to set up a method of getting messages out of the city, anyway; if the attack does land here we'll have to get word to Prince Talisid." She leaned back in her chair, her shoulders slumping wearily; the pleasant thrum from the wine was seeping through her skin, but it was also lulling her into a relaxed drowsiness, and she rubbed her eyes, leaning her head against the high back of the chair. "We can send a few messengers off tomorrow to the war encampments and request that they be open to negotiations, at least for the sake of those already captured."

She chuckled. "I'd say we have a plan, albeit a loose one. Shall I find the Squire in the morning? We'll have to begin fortifying the tower and setting up defenses around the town, anyway; most likely he'll want to know what in the hells we're doing." She paused and then coughed sheepishly. "Ah...poor choice of words."

She pushed her chair back, standing. "I need to retire for the night; It's been a long day getting here and an even longer evening." She glanced at Saeldur curiously. "Do you mind if I take a few tomes back to my room for the night?

Saeldur snorted at Torio's inappropriate comment. "Amusing. Well we can certainly see who is not of this Plane here. Yes, feel free to take the books. Might as well put them to good use and the survival of all." He stood. "Shall I escort you back or are you all right to travel on your own? Last thing we need is for our strategist to get snatched from the Plane."

Lend closed the book she had been holding. "We have some avorals and mustevals who will be able to deliver messages for us easily enough. Let me see to that; you take care of organizing the defenses." She smiled warmly at Torio. "Thank you, Outsider, for helping us."

Torio gave a half-bow to the ursinal, smiling. "Thank you, Guardinal, for not escorting me straight to the Outlands." She turned, and followed Saeldur down to the flights of stairs to the second level, where her nearly emptied bottle of wine and the tomes were waiting in the side chamber. She lifted the tomes in her arms, and shook her head, chuckling. "I don't need an escort," she said to the elf, shifting the weight of the two tomes in her arms and glancing down at the various sheaves of paper and books still scattered across the table. "But I could use a little assistance carrying all of this, if you don't mind."

Saeldur smiled at Torio. "Of course." He began gathering the papers and the bottle of wine. He led her out of the Library, past the temple and onto the streets. It was dark but the citizens of the city were out walking the streets, visiting taverns and sweet shops. Music could be heard drifting out of the opening and closing doors along with the sounds of laughter. Saeldur began humming lightly to a tune. "One last night of celebration before we're all confined to the tower." He glanced at her and then smiled. "Come out with us; you will be surrounded by books and such soon enough."

They were standing outside the door to her inn, and Torio looked at him, then back at the entrance. She was tired, that much was true. She never did well at celebrations; she always had to resist the urge to make comments on people's mode of dress, or the tawdry, poorly played music, or the inane conversations struck up with cheap ale acting as the only catalyst between people who had nothing in common.

She shifted the books onto one hip, and listened to the revel-making for a moment. She could just go upstairs, grab another bottle of wine, and settle down with a book until she passed into unconsciousness in her bed. Her small, comfortable, empty bed.

Torio sighed. _The empty bed isn't going anywhere_. "All right," she said cautiously. "Let's take these in, and then you lead the way, master elf."

Saeldur clapped his hands together, pleased. "Ah wonderful." He followed her to her room where they deposited the massive amount of books and parchment. "Now, we mustn't waste a single moment. What kind of place would you like? Ale houses? Tea houses? Dessert shops? Do you like music? Theatres? You may be the emissary sent by the Prince to us but I feel as though I should be emissary from Gwillikens to you. I have lived here for many centuries." They were standing again on the streets and the elf gestured expansively around him. "We're one of the larger cities in Elysium. Which isn't saying much mind you, compared to cities in Toril but anything you want, we have."

Torio blinked, staring around her. What _did _she like? She was momentarily nonplussed as she stared at the nighttime activity around her. Her idea of a hot night was a Library table, for gods' sakes...

"The theatre?" she asked curiously. "I always did have a taste for watching others embarrass themselves." Her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "What do they show in theatres on the Blessed Fields of Elysium, Saeldur?"

Saeldur laughed and took her arm. "Fables and fairytales! Stories about monsters and heroes. Love and romance. Comedy! Tragedy! Inconvenient plot twists. Isn't theatre the same everywhere?" He led her through the streets, greeting people by name. "A moment..." He slipped inside a tavern and emerged a few moments later with another bottle of a sweet wine and two glasses. "I know the man that runs the place, didn't mind me sneaking off with his wares. For the Ambassador, of course."

They ducked down a side street between a row of clean, neat houses. "Come - there is an outdoor stage by the River..." They walked across a small grassy hill and below them they could see a simple raised platform. Most of the creatures watching the show were sitting on the grass. There were many lupinals here. Outside of the small city, the stars overhead twinkled brilliantly, lighting up the entire sky. It was cool but not unpleasant.

Saeldur picked a spot just off to the side and sat, leaning back and holding himself up with his elbows. He watched the show below them for a minute before turning to Torio, "All right, I know this story. A man has turned into a horrible beast because he drank the wrong potion and now he has to convince three pretty girls to kiss him before the full moon so he can return to normal."

Torio leaned forward over her knees, crossing her arms under her chin as she watched the play. The "horrible beast" was a cervidal bedecked with strange appendages and dangling scraps of cloth, and he played a desperate, somewhat foolish hero, trying to trick, cajole, plead, and order a plethora of young women who were paraded past him on stage.

Torio laughed as one maiden nearly kissed him, only to be distracted by one of the man-turned-beast's friends as the man attempted to "save" her from the hideous monster. "By gods, I would have simply tied up a few ladies and kissed them, by now," she said, leaning back onto her elbow and reaching for her glass. It was hard to imagine this entire plain was about to become the site for a battle, much less a battle with devils and celestial creatures. She glanced at Saeldur over the rim of her glass as she took a drink, her eyes gleaming. "So what happens if he doesn't receive his three kisses? He turns into stone?"

Saeldur poured himself a glass of the wine as well, raising his hands in a toast and saying quietly, "To a fortuitous meeting and to victory on the battlefield!" He took a sip before continuing, "No, I think he remains a hideous monster for all of eternity if he doesn't receive his three kisses."

The elf half-turned to her, taking another drink of wine. "Yes well - if we solved the problem your way, it wouldn't be much of a play, now would it?" But he chuckled. "Much too practical for the arts. But perfect for warfare. I can see now why the Prince picked you." Saeldur clapped when one girl finally gave the "monster" a small peck on the lips. "Tell me, would you kiss him in those circumstances?"

Torio raised her glass with his toast, and then grinned down towards the stage, her skin flushed pleasantly from the wine. "It would depend on the bargain, my good elf." _Technically I've probably kissed worse in my time._ "If he plied his case fairly and offered suitable compensation, I suppose a kiss would be forthcoming. But at the moment he seems more interested in chasing that poor girl around the stage."

She laughed as the "monster" tripped, and shook her head. "So yes, I would probably make poor entertainment on stage." _At least in playacting_. She leaned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. "I'm still not sure I'll make a proper tactician." She snorted lightly. "We'll see, won't we?"

Saeldur laughed, "Suitable compensation? You mean you wouldn't kiss the poor fellow out of the goodness of your heart?" He poured her more wine before refilling his glass, catching her eye. "Just a kiss, that's all he's asking for." Saeldur suddenly blinked and looked sheepish before redirecting his attention to the stage. "Barely an extra moment of your time and you can save the poor boy from remaining a monster."

He drank his wine, contemplating her words. "You'll be fine, Torio. I have faith in your ability. Nobody really knows what's going to happen; I think it's admirable that you've taken such a lead, and in a strange place for you, no doubt."

Torio's eyes narrowed slightly, her mouth twitching in a smile. "Ah, but I'm sure the poor man was turned into a beast for a reason. He drank the wrong potion, yes?" She laughed as the monster on stage attempted to squeeze in between a pair of kissing lovers and position his own mouth in a strategic place. "Now that's how you do it," she chuckled, pointing with her glass. "How would anyone ever think that was a good idea?" She glanced at Saeldur, smiling. "All right, now I feel sorry for him. A kiss, then, freely given." She shook her head, taking a drink from her glass.

_What are you doing, Torio?_

She ignored the nagging voice at the back of her head coldly, recalling the broken mirror in her bathing room. It was absolutely wonderful to simply banter, to sit close to someone; she hadn't realized how used to constant companionship she had gotten with Sand until it had been rather thoroughly ripped away from her. And it was just a play, after all. "I'm glad you have faith in me, then. It's a...strange situation, I'll admit, but I've been thrust into foreign places before." She glanced up at the brilliant sky wryly. "Albeit not so foreign as this."

Saeldur snickered when the monster began cajoling those in the first row of the audience for a kiss, "Ah we should have sat closer. Then you would have had to give him a kiss. What a lucky monster he would have been!"

He watched the scene before him unfold until a slim half-elf was practically pushed by her friends into the cervidal's arms. Hoots and hollers went up as the girl gave him the most chaste kiss; blushing, she sat back down. Saeldur laughed again. "Whatever actor wins this role - he's rather fortunate! He gets to kiss a different maiden every night."

Torio snorted, laughing. "Lucky monster? I'd say mislabeling your potions and turning yourself into a beast is poor compensation for a few chaste kisses."

The elf plucked a piece of grass and began toying with it. "Elysium isn't that different from Toril, once you get over the guardinals. And the never ending goodness. In the villages and towns, people still eat, sleep, play, work - but you only ever do what you want. It's really quite perfect."

She listened to him speak, covertly glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. His voice lacked the sharp, caustic edge that she missed so dearly; it was pleasant enough, and his features were sharp and elegant like many moon elves she had met. His eyes were bright, clear, intelligent; but where Sand's had always seemed wary, considering, and knowingly mocking, his were simply filled with a bright knowledge and a subtle kindness.

_By gods, but she missed him..._ her skin was warm, the wine was perfect, the evening was lovely...and the person she wished she was with was currently on another world twisting bedsheets with some Luskanite mistress, with the whispering remains of the spell that had sent her here probably still smoking around the hill she had landed on, the air not even cleared yet. She sighed, running a hand through her short hair, feeling the soft, thick strands sift between her fingers. "So everyone's pointed out to me," she said, her eyes following the cervidal's progress across the stage. "I must admit, it's an astounding place; and the guardinals have been...surprisingly...accepting of me. One of the lupinal leaders managed to make me a part of their pack."

Saeldur whistled long and low. "That's a great honor, Torio, one that is...well...hardly ever granted to someone. I knew there was something special about you the minute I saw you, wine bottle aside." He kept his eyes on the play before them, laughing as the cervidal tried asking his mother for a kiss only to have the woman slam the door in his face.

_Something special._ Torio smiled widely, chuckling as she drained her wineglass, and reached for the bottle to refill it. "Either that, or the pack is the morbidly curious sort. I'm on a plane...a world, surrounded by all manner of fantastical creatures. I hardly think one lone human woman counts as special." She took a sip from her freshly filled glass. "Not one with my background, most certainly."

Saeldur turned and looked at her. "And maybe it is your background that makes you special. Prince Talisid selected you for a reason, did he not? Normally, the humanoids are sent to cities and such to wait out the wars but he has involved you very directly. That's special."

Now the cervidal was walking along, bemoaning his fate that all the prettiest girls of the land wouldn't kiss him when a homely girl walked by. Saeldur chuckled, "I think I can guess what the moral of this play is..."

The cervidal's voice carried far over the laughter of the crowd, and she watched as he caught sight of the plain looking girl. She glanced at Saeldur quizzically, her mouth still curved in a smile. "Oh? And what's the moral of the story, master historian?"

He reached over and took the wine bottle from Torio. "Oh, some fluff about how one should judge a person based upon what their heart and mind hold and not their appearances. Look..." He gestured. "She's going to kiss him even though he's a monster because she sympathizes with him and now he wants to kiss her even though she's...well... not a beautiful flower."

The elf watched the two kiss and the monster suddenly revert back to being a cervidal, clapping enthusiastically. The two actors were now declaring their unending love to each other under the full moon. He grinned at the human, "I love happy endings."

Torio set her glass down on the grass and joined in the applause, whistling as the cervidal and the girl at his side took their bows, the other actors from the play joining them on the stage. She glanced at Saeldur. "I suppose I've kept from developing a taste for happy endings, myself; it's never too wise to desire something so elusive. Almost like an excellent bottle of wine; once you've had one you can't seem to settle for anything less."

She sat up slightly, brushing grass from her legs and watching the actors disperse from the stage. "Or are happy endings simply one more thing Elysium has in abundance, my dear elf?"

Saeldur stood and offered his hand to Torio to help her up. "Well, admittedly, the citizens of Elysium like their happy endings. But surprisingly, there are many stories about sacrifice as well. Those aren't quite so happy."

They began walking back towards the buildings of the city. "Now why would a person stop themselves from liking happy endings? Why wallow in misery, dear Torio? Isn't life hard enough as it is? I would take whatever happiness I could, when and where I could find it. Like tonight." He patted her hand. "Besides, if you think happiness is elusive then your standards are much much too high. Company of friends, a good book, a decent meal... "

Torio laughed, remembering Brandobras' exuberance at being underneath a solid roof again. "All right, so it could always be worse. I concede the point." The city around them glowed softly, although she wasn't sure if it was from the lights or the wine. Blast it, but it was hard to cling to cynicism in this place. She teasingly slipped her arm through Saeldur's, squeezing it lightly. "And I don't do that often, master historian."

_Standards too high_...well, she'd had them set high for her. She'd gone from an empty, barren wasteland to someone who'd stimulated her mind, body, soul. _Then back to the wasteland again. _"So that's all it takes for you to be happy, is it? I'll agree with you on the books, sir...and more recently on the friends." She grinned slightly as they grew closer to her inn, the tower looming in the distance. "But I've had my share of fine meals before, and I've been perfectly miserable throughout them." She recalled a few of the more important dinner meetings she'd gone to in Garius' place; she'd hardly been able to relax enough to keep her words straight, much less enjoy the food. She chuckled lightly. "And in the past few days the field rations haven't taken away from the good company or the books." She inhaled as they arrived at the tavern door. "Although combine the three, and you have a deadly combination, there."

Saeldur smiled at her. "Well perhaps in the next few days, we can attempt to combine all three for you before you're back to eating dried meats and going toe-to-toe with devils who are trying to burn my books." He let out a mock half-sob. He looked up at the closed tavern door, where the sounds of patrons had quieted down from earlier. "Well... It was a pleasure to meet you Torio. I enjoyed myself tonight." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "Will I see you tomorrow at the Library?"

Torio returned the pressure against her hand...and then gently disentangled her fingers from his. "I suppose you will, if your Squire doesn't run me too raggedly along the defenses." She smirked at him good-naturedly. "You could always come help the others fill sandbags and build blockades.

She gave a mock-curtsey, and said, "Good night, Saeldur," before turning and pushing open the tavern door. Her heart felt heavy as she trudged up the staircase to her room. The books were where they had left them, half scattered across the floor and the bed. She stripped down to her tunic and slipped beneath the blankets, sighing and reaching for one of the books.

A few minutes later she was asleep, her face pressed into the pages.


	18. Chapter 18

**Volume 3, Chapter 18 – Sand: Leading the Witness**

Dawn was barely creeping over the horizon when Nivarra opened her eyes. Sand was lukewarm beneath her, his breathing deep and slow.

She lifted her head; his eyes were closed, although she wasn't positive he was asleep. Did elves sleep? She carefully extracted herself from under his arm, yawning expansively...and then absently, almost as an afterthought, pressed her foot against his back once again and kicked him lightly off the edge of the bed.

THUNK!

"Good morning," she said pleasantly. "Get up, slave." She slid off the bed and walked naked to her wardrobe, adding, "Please." She dressed slowly into a morning robe, and glanced at Sand momentarily before turning and moving towards her door. "My maidservant will bring you breakfast," she said sharply. "I will return in a short while; you can start on brewing my father's potions until I do so."

Nivarra was gone. The door almost immediately opened again, admitting the young maidservant, carrying a tray practically heaping with hot, sumptuous food. She averted her eyes as she set the tray next to the bed, and then glanced towards the door. "The servants quarters, tonight," she whispered. "If you can make it."

She turned and scurried from the room.

Sand sat still on the floor for a moment, naked. Firstly, he was going to have to start waking up before her if only to avoid a good morning kick off the bed. Secondly...

Was this Biren calling him down? or Matthew?

He hoped it was Matthew.

Thirdly, he needed to know where Nivarra kept his clothes. Sand stood and pulled on the silk robes from the evening before before sitting on her bed and picking through the food. He could tell Nivarra it was less risky for him to visit the storerooms alone; that tonight he would go himself and then secretly also swing by the servants' quarters. Perhaps he could ask her for permission to visit the kitchens under the pretense of needing it as an excuse in case a guard caught him wandering about, when in actual fact he really did need to get to the kitchens.

If he was caught, he had no doubts about what awaited him. He finished his breakfast, brushing the crumbs from his lap before moving to the bathing chamber and washing up. Sand re-entered his small room. His eyes scanned the list of potions he still needed to make and with a sigh, set to work.

A guard entered Sand's side room without knocking. "The Lady has summoned you, wizard. Follow me."

Her father was watching her coldly as she finished speaking. "Asleep at his post? My storeroom guard?"

Nivarra sat on the edge of his desk, keeping her posture aloof, relaxed, uncaring. "He's gone, father. I know how important that storeroom is to you; I'll replace the watch tonight, and you won't have to concern yourself with-"

"But I will, won't I?" Dornan stood, moving around his desk until he stood in front of her, his arms crossed. "I trust certain things to you, Nivarra, so that you will learn how to manage this household; and yet you sit here, and lie to me; you take nothing seriously. This estate will be _yours_, and you waste time at that useless, god-mongering temple..."

Nivarra summoned a bristling, injured glare. "I have never lied..."

The blow came before she was ready for it. His fist was closed, knuckles sharp and boney, and she sucked in a shocked breath as she tumbled to the floor, pain exploding behind her eye. The second blow landed on her back; her ribs creaked, and she shut her eyes, willing herself to stay calm, willing herself to breathe...

Her father's voice was even, cold. "I will manage the guards from now on, Nivarra. When you demonstrate the leadership qualities I have been attempting to hone in you, then I will return such duties to you. As of now, your incompetence baffles me; you are a grown woman and yet you seem to think matters of this household are unimportant while you dally around at all hours of the night..." His eyes narrowed. "Oh yes. The guards tell me what times you leave and return to my house. Do you not think they would report to me?"

Nivarra returned to her feet, her face throbbing. She stared at Dornan hard. "No. Of course not, father."

The door to Dornan's study was knocked on, and then the guard opened it, leading in Sand. "The wizard is here, milord."

Sand stepped into Dornan's study, his face blank and neutral at first but then he saw Nivarra. Her face had a large red mark across it and he looked at her in alarm. The geas twitched in his chest but he would have spoken up without it. Sand said, concerned, "Mistress... are you all right?" He risked a look at her father before gazing at her again. "You summoned me?"

"I'm perfectly fine, slave," she snapped, her eyes furious; but the look was directed at her father. "Mind your place. My father has need of you; apparently a pair of the permanent house servants were discovered out on the grounds last night; we are unaware of what they might have been doing, but there were some ingredients found missing from the storeroom." Her eyes flicked to his momentarily, meaningfully; the top of her cheek and around her eye was beginning to swell, the flesh coloring a brilliant scarlet. "The guard who fell asleep at his post has been relieved of duty, but my father needs to question these servants to see if they know anything about the theft. And to find out what they were doing out on the grounds."

Dornan eyed Sand remotely. "You've memorized your spell list, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and gestured to the guard. "Bring him along, I don't have all morning."

When Nivarra moved to follow, Dornan glanced back, cocking an eyebrow. "Not you, girl."

Her voice was sharp. "Father, I..."

"...have lost your responsibility over the doings of the guards and servants until I see fit. Return to your chambers, Nivarra. We will discuss this later."

Dornan exited the room, the guard giving Sand a none too gentle shove against his back as he moved to follow.

Sand followed Dornan, swallowing nervously. His mind went through his extensive spell list, wondering what he'd be called upon to use and what he could do to weasel his way around it. The geas technically bade him to only obey Nivarra; if he disobeyed her it would begin to insidiously destroy him from the inside out. But if he disobeyed Dornan?

The man would destroy him from the outside in. Of this, he had no doubt.

If he was willing to strike his own daughter, what would a mere slave be to him?

Sand steeled himself mentally as he entered the familiar stone room with the glyphs, symbols and wards.

The runed room had two tables set up in the center; the glyphs on the floor were glowing softly as Dornan approached, four guards scattered around the two figures on the tables, who were effectively tied down, spreadeagled and helpless. One of them was a woman from the serving quarters, her face already swelling in blotches of purple and rest, blood caked at the corner of her mouth and in various places along her body, staining her non-descript clothing.

The other figure, looking just as beaten, eyes shut against the pain, was Matthew.

"We found them out by the wall...I suspect they were looking for an escape route or some method of contacting the city outside. Most of my permanent personnel are slaves, or those working off debts, or prisoners given to me as a reward for my patronage towards the Hosttower; therefore, they do not leave my estate, are not allowed outside of their quarters at night, and are not afforded an ounce of leniency." Dornan's eyes flitted to Sand's face. "As you have already seen."

The lord stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I want you to question them, wizard. I want to know what they were doing, and if they had anything to do with the break in to my storeroom. Use any means necessary to get them to speak; I want the truth." His arms crossed over his chest, looking at Sand expectantly.

Sand stepped up to the two tables, his mouth set in a grim line. This was entirely his fault and he knew it. The gods were never going to forgive him if he let these two hang out to dry; he was certain there was a special place in the Hells for people like him. He walked over to the girl first, learning down closely to her face. "Hello, dear girl...what's your name?" He glanced at Matthew, before looking back at her. "You know the rules here. What were you two doing outside? Lovers, perhaps? Hmm?" He was blatantly leading witness, so to speak.

The girl looked up at him through one still unswollen eye for a moment, the gleam of green barely seen through her half-closed lids. Matthew was straining slightly against the ropes, grunting with the exertion as the girl contemplated Sand's words.

Then, "Yes," she croaked out. "No privacy in the servants quarters...we were sneaking away to be alone." The next was barely a whisper. "Name is Friya."

Dornan was pacing around them in a wide, prowling circle, his eyes never leaving Sand's face. "The storeroom," he prompted.

Sand nodded obsequiously and then took her dirty hands in his. "Well Friya, dear, I hope you've learned your lesson. Slaves and servants can't be afforded privacy and time to be alone. You belong to Lord Dornan, not to each other." He dropped her hands, moving in between the two tables. "But there still remains the matter of the storeroom... you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

_Of course you wouldn't, because I'm the only one that does..._

He jostled Matthew slightly. "Look at me, boy. Did you see anything? Hear anything?"

The young man stared at Sand, his eyes bleak, a faint gleam of determination still shining in their depths. "We were outside," he said hoarsely. "Outside, do you hear me?" He raised his voice, so that Dornan could hear him. "How could we sneak into a storeroom when we were outside of the house? We had nothing to do with that room."

Dornan walked forward and struck Matthew hard across his already bruised and bloodied cheek, making the younger man whimper, his body clenching against the ropes. "Do not raise your voice to me, slave," he said sharply. "Do you think I'm a fool? Your father was the same, always giving me excuses, lies, pleas...you would do well not to follow his example, lad, since it is what got you here in the first place." He gestured towards Sand. "Mordekainan's Sword, wizard. The glyphs will keep healing him, so don't hold back; he'll not bleed out on us." Dornan stepped back. "Yet."

Sand kept his eyes down, staring at the floor. "Lord Dornan, what he says makes sense. I don't know how or why a slave like him would even be in the storerooms; did he have anything on his person when he was caught?" Thankfully the geas made no protest and his conscience eased slightly. "And...my Lord, may I recommend a...a...another spell? Mordenkainen's Sword is expensive and best reserved for combat situations. There are persuasion spells, charm spells which can be used to get the truth..."

Dornan narrowed his eyes; he had a penchant for bloodshed, that was true. He firmly believed that pain was the only way to control someone, to earn their honesty. Fear kept them in line, and he had used the same tactic on the servants that were bound to him.

But these two, in front of him, hadn't feared him enough to keep them in the serving quarters. "All right, wizard," he said with deceptive evenness. "We'll try it your way. I want the truth; cast, and provide it for me."

Sand nodded and reached into his components pouch for a piece of preserved, dried snake's tongue and a vial of sweetened oil. He soaked the blackened piece of flesh in the oil, reciting a few words, watching the tongue magically uncurl and become a healthy reddish hue as the _Suggestion_ spell took place. He looked at Matthew. "Tell me, friend, did you have anything to do with the break-in to the storeroom? Tell me the truth now..."

Matthew sighed, his straining muscles relaxing slightly. "No," he murmured, almost placidly. "Nothing at all. We went straight from the servants quarters to the upper grounds, and out by the wall. We passed the hallway that the storeroom is off of; the guard was there, and we had to run by quickly, or else he'd see us."

Dornan's face was furrowed into a thoughtful frown as he listened. His eyes seemed to gleam as he looked from the tied servant on the table to Sand's face, a strange light in his eyes. There was a long, tense moment where all that could be heard was Matthew's eased, calm breathing, and Friya's soft whimpers.

Finally Dornan looked over at one of the guards. "Ten lashes each," he said sharply. "And a day of solitary confinement. The cells behind the servants quarters should do the trick."

The guards moved as one; two of them held down the servants to the table while the other two cut them loose; Matthew and Friya were hauled onto their feet and dragged from the room, Friya's head bowed forward, and Matthew straining, looking over his shoulder, keeping Sand in his sights before they disappeared though a side door.

Dornan looked at Sand, walking towards him slowly. "Wizard," he said calmly, "My daughter tells me that the guard by the storeroom door was asleep on his post." His arms folded expansively across his chest as he drew level with Sand, staring down at the shorter elf. "But the servants yet run by him, for fear of being discovered." He stared down into Sand's eyes, as if he could glean the truth straight from the blue orbs in the elf's head. "Is there anything you care to tell me, slave?"

Sand kept his eyes to the floor in a show of humble servitude but gave a dry chuckle, his throat constricting anxiously. "To be frank, my Lord Dornan, I would run by every guard as well if I had been in their situation whether the guard was awake or asleep. There is great risk in tempting your wrath." His blue eyes flicked upwards for a moment. "I've heard Nivarra berate the guard outside her door when she's caught him sleeping; it seems as though they fall asleep for short bits of time before waking up when they hear footsteps...It would not have surprised me if the guard had unfortunately fallen asleep when Nivarra was out in the hallways..."

Dornan narrowed his eyes. He stared at the elf for a long moment; the wizard radiated subservient humility, his body language deferential...but he knew there was something out of place, something off.

"Very well," he said. "Return to my daughter's chambers. I will summon both of you if I have need."

The man turned and left the chamber. One of the guards moved forward to escort Sand; as he passed Dornan, the lord reached out, stopping the guard momentarily; he whispered, "Watch him, and the girl. I want a full report on their movements this evening."

The guard nodded, and moved to Sand. "Let's go, wizard."


	19. Chapter 19

**Volume 3, Chapter 19 – Torio: A History of Wine**

The sun had risen for a few hours before Brandobras came knocking on Torio's door. "Torio? Girl? I'm on my way to my second breakfast...did you want to join me?" He thought to give her time to sleep in; she had returned to her room rather late last night. He had been busy himself: many of the local merchants had agreed to help with stocks and stores. Today they would be moving the supplies into the temple. He knocked again. "Torio?"

_The bed felt wonderful...she knew it would be time to leave and sneak back to her room, soon, but she didn't want to leave just yet...she stretched languidly, reaching out to pull Sand closer..._

Her fingers found the edges of an open book, paper rustling under her fingers, and she opened her eyes.

She sighed. It was midmorning, and Brandobras' voice was calling through her door.

"Unnng," she mumbled. Then; "I'm coming!" She wriggled into her trousers and padded to the door, opening it a crack. Brandrobras was grinning up at her, and despite her drowsiness and the pained echoes of memory thrumming through her head, she couldn't help but smile down at him. "Second breakfast, already? I can't imagine how you stay so small, sir halfling. Just give me a moment, I'll be ready to join you once I've made myself somewhat presentable." She shut the door and washed up quickly in her bathing room, glancing at her reflection in her cracked mirror. She looked leaner, her normally softened, rounded features whittled down slightly, her eyes sunken and taking on an almost feverish glow. _Too much damn walking._ She turned away from her own reflection; it was somehow difficult to meet her own gaze, difficult to see the effects of the last few days wearing on her. She eyed the armor she had lain out the night before as she passed it, pulling on her boots and buckling her belt on around her waist.

She opened her door a moment later and slipped out. "All right! Second breakfast...lead on, my lord."

Brandobras led her down the stairs into the dining area of the Drunken Duck. "Well I hope you had a good day yesterday! Mine was productive." He quickly filled her in about what had been accomplished, while helping himself to a muffin. "The people here are so eager to help. They're scared and nervous of course but they're incredibly brave."

He seated himself in the middle of the room. "Avorals have been in this morning already. Everyone is in place; patrols are in full swing. Tension's building - we're all waiting." He took a sip of tea, spinning the cup around on the saucer. "Waiting's the most difficult part, isn't it?"

Torio snorted, taking a steaming mug of tea from the inkeeper as she passed the counter and picking out a sweet, sticky pastry...but no frosting on it. She sighed.

She followed the halfling to the table he sat at and settled down. "Yes, I think it is." Blowing on the steaming tea in her cup, she took a drink, and sighed. "The tension seems to always be building; if it doesn't release soon, I think it's going to snap." She took a healthy bite of the sticky bun and swallowed, adding as an afterthought, "I still need to talk to Squire Sirrow; are you going to help move supplies into the temple with the others, then? I'll have to get some of the guardinals to begin setting up the defenses." She smiled wryly at the halfling. "Second breakfast, indeed...you might even need a second lunch with all the work we'll be doing, today."

Brandobras patted his tummy. "Brunch comes before lunch which comes before second lunch which comes before tea... don't make me skip straight to a second lunch, Torio dearest or you'll break my heart!" He started eating some pink fruit that had been brought to them. "I'm going to help move the supplies; they know my face and I've already spoken to the priests at the temple. Why don't you find Dahras? He's camped just outside of town. I know he would love to help out. I think he feels like he should be taking charge of things because his mother is the alpha female of the pack." He stood, brushing himself off. "Let's get started!"

Torio and Brandobras emerged from the tavern a few moments later; Torio had taken a fraction of time to buckle on her armor, and now she stood a bit stiffly, staring at the bustle around her. People were pulling boxes, bags, bottles, anything they could carry from buildings and walking in a steady trail towards the tower, orderly and organized and seemingly calm.

A spindly figure rushed from nowhere; Squire Sirrow wrung his hands, smiling at her nervously, and then wrung hers in a gripping handshake. "Nice to see you up and about, Ambassador! Good, good; if you will follow me, you can explain what our plan of defense is..."

The next few hours were spent walking the perimeter of the town...twice...(Dahras was easily enough found on one of these passes, and he was near bursting with eagerness to do something) helping to move blockades, building makeshift ladders into the sides of buildings so that the archers could go up and down as they pleased, ensuring there was enough cover on the rooftops for said archers to duck behind...she went over routes over rooftops with the archers, making them drill through the process of moving from the outermost buildings in the town in to the tower...she explained her plan to Squire Sirrow close to a dozen times before she finally snarled at the man to write it down or remove his pea sized brain from her presence. (she always did have a nasty temper) and the man fled for near half an hour before approaching her again, where she calmly apologized.

When everyone was called into the center of town for lunch, she was already completely exhausted.

She leaned back against the temple wall, gratefully accepting a water gourd and a hot pastry filled with some sort of meat, vegetable, gravy concoction. She took a long drink from her gourd, and then dumped the rest of it over her sweat-dampened head, sighing in resignation.

Saeldur appeared beside Torio, offering her a carafe of wine. "Seeing as how you've dumped the rest of your drinking water on your head..." He surveyed the scene before him. "It looks...good. Really good. You've gotten so much done in just one morning. Lend and I have been going over books. She's trying to narrow down which Circle of Hell could possibly be involved in this. There's some power behind it because to open a portal into Elysium is no small task."

Torio gratefully took the carafe of wine, pushing her damp hair off of her face and squinting up at the elf momentarily. "Thank you." She took a sip of wine, and watched as a pair of mustevals chattered to each other in a language she didn't understand..._probably celestial._ She patted the dirt next to her. "Have a seat...my ground is your ground. Have you and Lend narrowed it down, then, at least?" She lowered her voice slightly, glancing out over at the people milling and lounging around, eating and talking quietly amongst themselves. "They're nervous," she said evenly. "I'm nothing if I can't read a crowd; the work's keeping their mind off of it, Saeldur, but once we're fully prepared, they'll have nothing to do but sit and wait." She rubbed the back of her neck, watching a human man wrap a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders. "If they at least know what we're going up against..."

Saeldur shook his head, leaning in close and keeping his voice down. "Nothing as of yet. We don't have any clues, no reports of avatars or unholy symbols appearing..." He looked at the crowd. "Just tell them devils and monsters. They don't need to know the details. They probably wouldn't understand it anyway. And we'll do our best to entertain them I suppose, once we're all set. Library has books, we have plenty of singers, storytellers..." He squeezed her shoulder and then stood. "Keep the wine. You look like you need it. I just wanted to make sure you were all right and the good people of Elysium weren't working you too hard. I'm going to return to Lend now with some food." He took a few steps away from her before turning back to face her. "If you don't have plans for later tonight, join me for dinner..." Saelduer bowed low and then disappeared into the crowds.

Torio watched him walk off in bemused puzzlement for a moment, before smiling to herself and shaking her head, pushing herself back onto her feet. The call back to work came moments later, and she downed the rest of the wine before heading back into the fray.

The rest of the afternoon moved at a much slower pace than the energetic frenzy earlier that morning. People were tired, and it was beginning to show, but they moved doggedly onwards; the sound of hammers, woodsaws, shouted orders, running feet, and the occasional laughter filled the small town. The trail of people moving supplies into the tower lessened until only the innermost buildings still had anything coming out of them. People were moving in to the temple for the night when Squire Sirrow finally called a halt amongst the guardinals. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice dragging tiredly. "We've done a lot today, friends, let's call it a night."

Torio was one of the last ones into the temple before the doors were shut behind her. The side rooms, alcoves, pews, and even the infirmary were filled with people settling in for the night, talking, laughing; a pair of children were chasing each other around the pews, and Torio dodged them with an exasperated expression before trudging up the stairs towards the Library.

Saeldur was reshelving the last of the books when he noticed Torio coming up the stairs. "Ah you've survived. How is it down there? Crowded?" He tucked the last book away, wiping his forehead. "Aren't you glad now I've offered you your own private 'chambers' up here?" His silver eyes shone merrily. "Lend's on the top floor if you need to see her."

Torio chuckled lightly. "I just hope nobody else catches on, else we'll be up to our ears." She watched him shelving books for a moment, wiping her face as well. "I suppose I'll go see her before she's lost in her books. And I'm lost in sleep." She shook her head in amusement, and turned to continue up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder. "Although I believe you offered me dinner?"

Without waiting for a response, she slipped up the stairs, wondering vaguely why the ursinal chose the _very top_ of the cursed tower to settle in to. When she reached Lend's level, she stepped into the be-shelved area, tapping on the doorframe lightly. The Ursinal was bent over tomes, almost in the exact same position as the night before. "Lend?"

The ursinal looked up, her expression very tired. "Torio! Saeldur tells me of the great things you've done." She yawned, her great big jaws opening wide, showing a flash of sharp white teeth. "I sent word with the last avoral messenger of your plans and preparations to Prince Talisid. I hope you don't mind."

She stood and stretched her back; a popping noise could be heard and she gave a deep laugh. "I get so drawn into books that I forget to move sometimes. I'm afraid my day hasn't been very productive. I don't know any more about who may be attacking us, but I know much about Hellish politics. More than I ever cared to." She wrinkled her snout in disgust.

Torio chuckled, moving towards the ursinal's table and sinking into one of the chairs across from her. She smiled slightly at her. "If you want, I can take over the book reading tomorrow, and you can work outside with the defenses." She sighed, leaning back into the chair. "I don't mind that you've told the Prince; I just hope it'll be enough. I've never actually seen these tactics in action." She cocked an eyebrow at Lend sardonically. "You _don't_ have to tell anyone that if you don't wish to."

Torio leaned forward, glancing over the upside down tome in front of Lend curiously. "Politics can be powerful tools, regardless. At least we'll know how to negotiate with...whoever ends up attacking us." She laughed tiredly, and rested her head on her had. "Did you need anything, Lend? Food? Water?" She smirked slightly. "Personal masseuse?"

Lend shook her head. "Oh no, I like my books, Outsider. They need you more than me out there. I'd probably just mess up all your hard work today." Her eyes twinkled kindly. "And your secret is safe with me." She began closing books, and arranging them into neat piles on the table. "You don't want to offer to rub my shoulders, Torio. You'll be here for hours and you'll have only gotten to one side." She shook out her large shoulders impressively. "Saeldur has been most kind and has been bringing me all the food and drink I could want. He says he normally doesn't allow eating or drinking in the Library but since he made an exception for you, he has to extend the courtesy to everyone now."

She walked over to a window and stared out. The city was completely dark and quiet. Such a strange contrast compared to yesterday. "So everybody is in the tower and safe? That is good."

Torio watched the ursinal move to the window, caught for the moment with the impressive creatures grace and strength of movement. She's had plenty of opportunity to feel small and human today amongst the throngs of fantastical guardinals, but the way they had moved with her commands, accepted her authority and listened to her words; she had felt equally up to the task for the first time since she had arrived here.

Now she felt small again, watching the bear-like woman stare down into the town. "The townsfolk are all down in the temple," she said, standing. "We have food, water, wine, clothing, any supplies you could think of." She walked and stood next to the ursinal for a moment, looking down into the town; the lights from the evening before were gone, and through the open window she could hear a chorus of singing pouring from the first floor; the people wasted no time in entertaining themselves, and she smiled slightly. "I'll be on the second floor if you need me, 'my lady,'" she said, with the lightest touch of friendly mockery in her voice. "Who knows, after a few days of being confined to this tower I might take on your shoulders, after all." She clapped the ursinal lightly on her shoulder, before turning and heading back downstairs again.

Saeldur looked up as Torio re-emerged from the upper floors. "Ah, how is Lend doing? She works quite hard. I've never seen anyone so dedicated and enthralled by books. Except for myself of course." He winked at her. "And I've taken the liberty of arranging your sleeping quarters for you." He led her to the private study area where a small mattress and several pillows and blankets had been dragged and laid out against the wall. "Not much but I hope it'll do. I'll be staying up here as well, in my own office down that hallway." The elf pointed down a narrow hallway in the opposite direction.

"Will this suffice, my lady? Because if it's all right, I have a simple meal prepared for us. Nothing too elaborate, just some wine, fruits, cold meats, cheeses, breads..."

Torio nodded as she gazed around the small chamber. "This is fine," she said quietly. "Just give me a moment..." She moved to the table and unbuckled her armor, nearly sagging in relief as the leather accoutrements slid odd of her and were placed neatly on the table. She rubbed her waist, shoulders, wrists, encouraging the blood flow back into limbs unused to wearing such things, and then finally combed her fingers through her hair.

_By gods..._ she glanced down at herself, slightly dismayed; she was used to having a certain effect on people, and her fine, decidedly feminine clothes had always been a part of that. She sighed, smiling wryly at Saeldur. "Lead the way, elf. How do I look?" She twirled in a short, small circle, her voice clipped with light sarcasm. "I think nothing too elaborate will suit for tonight, don't you think?" She moved to the door, gesturing for him to lead.

Saeldur gave a low laugh, "In your leathers, you had looked like a very able warrior woman. If I had seen you on the battle field, I would have thought twice about approaching you. Now you look like a human woman in need of some food and rest. Luckily there is an elf who can provide this to you!"

He led her to the back of the Library, by a window, where he had dragged a table and laid out the food. Below them, they could hear the movements of many people talking, laughing, singing. He pulled out a seat for her and then sat down himself, cocking his head and listening to the noise in the temple. "All those people owe you their lives, you know. They'll be telling stories of you, I'm sure, for years to come. Of the strange human Outsider who showed up at our city the night before battle. I'll get to write it all down." He poured her some wine. "Don't worry, I'll make it very flattering."

It made Torio strangely uncomfortable to think of anyone owing her their lives. It was a powerful position to have over someone, anyone, true...but there was nothing she could gain from helping these people; she could hold their lives over their heads if she chose to, and demand...what? _Food? Water? Shelter?_ They were already giving her these things. They seemed to have all reached a successful negotiation without a word ever being uttered.

She took the proffered wine glass, laughing lightly. "Oh _thank_ you, master historian," she said, lifting her glass to him in a silent toast. "And what are you going to write about this human Outsider, pray tell? You'll have to run it by me, of course, before it goes onto paper." She glanced out the window, catching the tail end of a roar of laughter below them. "My _sterling_ reputation depends on it, you know."

Saeldur placed a piece of white cheese on some bread. "Well to start, I will say that you are a rulebreaker, bringing wine into Library of all places. But that you were so charming that I just had to let you get away with it." He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Now, if I were a bard, I'd say you were 6 feet tall, with flaming red hair and purple eyes, and you stood towering over the battlefield with a greatsword by your side. But I'm a historian and I have to be factual. So I'll probably write something like...ummm...'short in stature but great in authority, with lovely thick brown hair and keen gray eyes'. I am an elf after all. We must infuse all our writing with a sense of the dramatic."

The elf took a sip of wine. "That you came to us in our time of great need. That the Prince himself put you in charge of coming to Gwillikens. That lupinal packs adopted you into their tribes. That you have earned the respect of ursinal scholars." He shook his head and snorted. "How you have done this in such a short amount of time simply astounds me. What were you on Toril? A noblewoman? Royalty? You carry yourself as such and yet..." Saeldur's silver eyes narrowed. "And yet you get your hands dirty quite willingly."

Torio ridiculously felt her cheeks flush, and she bit into a piece of soft bread, swallowing slowly to cover her lapse. "I was many things," she said quietly, swirling the wine in her glass. "Most recently, a political Ambassador, a diplomat for a…very unique, very dangerous city." She glanced at him, suddenly cautious; he seemed openly accepting of her now, and yet there were plenty of things that she was that the elf might not find as attractive as what he thought she was at the moment. "My blood is not royal...I was born common as the dirt that lays the roads, and I lived as such until a...benefactor, found me. Trained me. Cultivated me to be the diplomat I became." Very pretty words to paint a rather bleak, violent, and desperate child and young adulthood.

She took a swallow of wine and picked out a few pieces of fruit. "I worked for nearly a decade as such; when I was sent here I was on a mission for a rival city that captured me." She chuckle. "I was a prisoner, bargaining for my life with whatever they asked of me." _Like always._ Torio took a bite from a slice of some yellow speckled white cheese and sighed in muted pleasure.

Saeldur raised his eyebrows. "My my! The Outsider has a far more interesting life than we originally thought. Well all that will go into your biography, rest assured." He took a bite of the cold roasted meat. "The histories of commoners who rise to power and authority are always the most interesting. You read and then you sit and wonder - what did they have in them and what did they have to do, to end up where they did? Simply fascinating."

He poured her more wine, before taking a drink of his own. "Did your benefactor send you here then? He must care for you a great deal. I do hope the city that captured you treated you fairly and well."

"They did," she said quietly, picking up her wine glass again. "For the most part. And no...my benefactor is...dead, I suppose. Technically." She pursed her lips. "We're not quite sure what he is. But no...he's been gone for a long time."

She took a swallow of wine, her heart clenching slightly as she began speaking. "When I was sent here, we were escaping the city that I used to act as diplomat for; we had been sent there on a mission by the city that held me, and we..." she sighed. "We did everything right, except for the escape. They caught up to us; I was wounded, horribly wounded. Dying." She felt her face twisting with the deep, utter sadness that swept through her, and she swallowed the knot in her throat fiercely. "My lover was on the ship with me; he spelled me away, here, and one of the temples to Pelor took me in, healed me again. I've been traveling ever since; I met Dahras not long after, and Chaksa, the lupinal pack leader, took me in."

Saeldur stood up from the chair and went over to her, pulling her in a hug and squeezing her tightly. "Oh Torio, I am so sorry. I didn't know." He leaned back, looking deeply into her eyes and brushing the strands of hair out of her eyes. "Your...lover... do you know what happened to him? Will you be returning to Toril after the war?"

Torio stared at the elf in front of her for a moment, surprised and bemused at his sudden closeness. She blinked slowly, his fingers light and cool where they brushed against her forehead, pushing the strands of hair away from her face. "I don't know much," she said haltingly. "Just that...he's back in Luskan, the city that chased us, caught us. He's with a woman..." _By the gods, she couldn't even say it._

She inhaled raggedly. "Prince Talisid has offered to open a portal for me back to Toril once it's safe to do so." She laughed lightly, an edge in her voice. "And I meanwhile have a very determined pack of lupinals trying to persuade me to stay."

Saeldur stiffened slightly at the mention of Luskan. "Yes, I know about Luskan - when last I was on Toril, it was a corrupt, evil city. So you were from Luskan?" He continued to stroke her hair almost absent-mindedly. "And your lover...With a woman? How do you know all this? But...You've only been here a few days..." He looked back at her, his expression kind. "Staying with the lupinals may be a better choice than going back to Faerun and Luskan. But I also understand this Plane isn't your home. You seem to have resisted the Entrapping effect rather well so far; says much about your loyalty to your lover and you determination to go home I think."

He stood again and took his seat, his expression thoughtful. "Well, forgive me then for my...advances. I didn't know."

Torio found she was pressing her head gently against his hands; when he pulled away her head dropped forward momentarily, before she straightened, dazedly reaching for her wine glass. "There's no way you could have known," she said, glancing at him. Her mouth twitched in a rueful smile. "Don't apologize; you've been inordinately kind to me, and I to be honest, I haven't the faintest idea why..."

She cleared her throat after trailing off, and swallowed a mouthful of wine. "There was a seer on this plane that told me what I know about what has happened to him. And yes." Her voice was so thick with bitterness that for a moment there was a harsh, cruel cast to her face as she stared out the window. "It's only been a few days." She knew Sand's situation couldn't be as cut and dried as all that; logically she was fully aware that Sand would have to do almost anything possible merely to stay alive in a city like Luskan. _Hadn't she been there before, herself?_ But the knowledge thrummed painfully through her body, regardless, a deep, wounding sickness that was slowly consuming her.

She rubbed her eyes, and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't exactly know what to do at this point." Which was true. Her eyes trained on him steadily across the table. "What would you do, if you were me, Saeldur?"

Saeldur took a sip of wine, mulling over his words for a long time. He glanced out the window, the dark city below him, traces of the winding river visible in the starlight. "I...don't know. I know if you could relax and let Elysium take you over, you could have a happy life here with us. But...you want to know what happened to your lover, don't you?" He sighed. "Well, you don't have to decide just yet, I suppose."

He gave her a wry smile, "We do have to survive a war first."

Torio snorted, the mood lightening slightly. _And over mention of battle, who would of thought. _"Yes, there is always _that _ever present reminder, thank you." Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile, and she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Well, you know inordinately more about me than I know about you, master historian." She took a drink of her wine, fingering a piece of fruit on the table in front of her. "You said you'd been here for centuries, even? Do you remember where you came from before that?"

Saeldur shook his head. "I don't remember anything of my time on Toril. Anything I know, I've read. I assumed I was from Evermeet since most elves are from there. I know about Luskan because it's in books here. I don't really miss my life there because I don't remember any of it."

He picked up a citrus type of fruit and peeled it. "I don't really mind. I have a new life here. I'm happy. My life is simple - take care of the Library, collect books, read. This War is the most excitement anyone has seen since..." He frowned slightly. "Since I can remember, really."

Torio watched his face as he spoke. He _did _seem happy enough; there weren't many sharpened edges to his character that she could see. She tried to picture herself, staying in Elysium, doing...doing what?

She remembered something vaguely..._what had Sand said_...Candlekeep? He had wanted her to come live with him at Candlekeep. Surrounded by books; the thought seemed pleasant enough, but she had felt too restless, her past too close, too raw, to let her settle into something so close to normalcy. _But if you don't remember your past?_ It was almost ironic, this parody of what she could have had, except the only thing that would have made it imperfect was removed from the picture. "So what would I do, if I stayed?" she asked lightly, smiling at him over her glass. "I doubt Amoria has much need for diplomats; you hardly need guards, from what I see."

The elf offered a piece of the peeled fruit. "Do what gives you pleasure, of course. If the Lower Planes are the equivalent to the Hells, surely this would be the Heavens. You could find your place easily enough. There are other levels to Elysium you could travel to." He caught her hands in his. "Prince Talisid already trusts you. Contrary to what you think, he does need diplomats and emissaries. The guardinals work on many Planes, in some fashion or another."

He leaned back in his chair, releasing her hands. "Visit me? Run with your lupinal packs? Hunt evil?"

Torio gratefully took the fruit, inspecting it curiously in the candlelight before taking a bite; it was sweet with a sharp tang to it, and the juice dribbled from the corner of her mouth. She snorted in laughter as she wiped at it, shaking her head. "I fear I see too much gray to hunt evil with the zeal that's most likely needed for it." She listened for a moment as a roar of laughter pealed up through the window, smothering the voice of a rather avid storyteller down in the temple below them for a moment. "The lupinals...they're...astounding. I could spend time with them, yes." She smiled wryly. "Although I'll never take to the wilderness like they do; I tend to prefer a few creature comforts at my beck and call." The rest of the fruit popped into her mouth, and she sighed; heavenly food, heavenly wine, heavenly creatures...

Saeldur gave her a bemused smile. "What _do _you like to do, anyway?"

She rested her chin on her hand, watching Saeldur thoughtfully. "I've always had a fondness for books. I'll need to be around some sort of intelligent creatures." The corner of her mouth curled in a smile. "If I go too long without a decent conversation I'll start losing my mind, the Blessed Fields or no." Her eyes followed a particular gleam on his hair, the yellow candlelight making the dark blue of his hair seem almost an iridescent black...like a raven's feather. "I suppose that means I'll have to visit you. Do you not get many people here in your library, then?" She arched a brow. "Barring times of war when they have no choice, of course."

"So does the lady imply that she thinks me intelligent and a worthy source of conversation? I'll have to write that in her biography." Saeldur leaned on the table, propping his head up by his elbows. "I do get visitors but you know how it is. People coming in, looking for specific books. They come for the knowledge or the stories. Never the poor master historian sitting at the front all by his lonesome." He chuckled. "I would like it very much if you visited, Torio. You'll always have a good meal, a good book and good company here. And of course you'll have to regularly visit to see progress on my entry about you in the annals of Elysian history!"

Torio laughed. "So you're holding my little piece of history hostage, is it?" She reached across the table and took his hand warmly. "I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you, now; otherwise who know what will show up in the annals of history about me." His fingers were calloused slightly, along the sides and the tips where he might hold a quill. They were so similar to Sand's that she nearly balked, the agile, slender fingers resting in hers in an almost painfully familiar way. It was no wonder she found it difficult to release her memories to Elysium. As she watched Saeldur's silver eyes catch the candlelight, she realized she had reminders shoved in front of her every day of what she had lost.

She toyed with his fingers nostalgically for a moment, feeling the fine bones and cool skin, her eyes downcast, watching the shadows flicker across their hands...before she pulled hers back slightly. "Yes, you could add that the lady finds the master historian quite intelligent," she said quietly. "And charming, and kind." She chuckled, lifting her glass in her other hand in a mock salute. "With impeccable taste in wines, I might add. Although I doubt there's a poorly vintaged wine in existence on this plane."

Saeldur lifted his glass as well. "I have spent years perfecting my love of wines. I am glad, for one night, I do not have to drink alone." He drained what was left of his glass, his expression soft as he stared out the window again. He breathed out quietly, "I don't even want to imagine what this land would look like come a battle. How long would it take us to heal, I wonder? I have died once and by luck or virtue, my soul found its way here; I do not wish to know what will happen if I die again and at the hands of fiends. Where do the souls of celestial creatures go?" He laughed softly at his rhetorical question.

Torio thought of Chaksa, and her story about her mate...she sighed. "I don't think even the celestials know that," she said quietly. "Hopefully we won't have to find out. The guardinals all seem so...powerful, to me. Imagining one of them falling is...gods, it's unthinkable." An image of a pit fiend's claws ripping through Dahras' hide, flinging Brandobras through the air... piercing Saeldur's body...there was a steely look in her eyes as she drowned the mental image with a long drink of wine.

"We'll be all right," she said, after a moment. "Nothing will happen to any of you. I'll do my best not to let it." _Empty promises, Torio? _She'd made plenty of them in her lifetime, but this one was an impossible vow she desperately prayed she could keep. She smiled wearily as she reached for the bottle once again, refilling her glass; she was certainly topping her lifelong consummation of wine within the past few days. "As for the landscape, it, if anything, is guaranteed to survive. Everything heals with time, I suspect." She felt a subtle weariness settle over her as she thought of what the morning might bring for them. "But we have to win, first."

Saeldur nodded at her. "We will win. Good always triumphs over evil, right?" He stood. "Now, for dessert, I've procured this from the woman who runs the Moonbeam Bakery down the street." The elf walked over to another table and picked up a platter, setting it down in front of Torio. "A special dessert from Gwillikens. Deep fried pastries that you dip into honey and powdered sugar before eating. Its one of my favorite indulgences; normally much too sticky for a library but I will make exceptions for you." The voices below them had quieted; somebody could be heard humming a lullaby. "Please, Torio, try it."

Torio smirked, taking one of the fried pastries in between her fingers. "I'll try to keep my fingers off the books, then." She dipped the pastry into the honey first, then the sugar, and took a bite, leaning forward over the table; a fall of sugar trickled down onto her hand, and she sucked in a breath, chewing eagerly. She swallowed, attempting to maneuver the pastry so that the honey stayed mostly off of the table.

"By gods, this is heavenly..." She took another bite, and made a muffled noise of protest as more powdered trickled away from her. She winced, and chuckled dryly, shaking her head. "And completely inappropriate for a library, I agree with you."

Saeldur helped himself as well, leaving a trail of powdered sugar from the small bowl, across the table to where he sat. "Yes well, just keep this to ourselves. I really don't need the children downstairs discovering we have this otherwise I'm certain they'll get their sticky fingers into all my books!" He polished off his piece, licking his fingers clean. "I'm sorry Torio, there's no way to eat this properly and with grace at the same time. But, therein lies half the fun. You have to get a little messy!" He chuckled and then reached over, wiping some of the powdered sugar from the tip of her nose. "You've got a little..something..."

The pastry was practically demolished, and she was left with sticky fingers..._and apparently powder on her face._ Her nose crinkled as he wiped at it. "Well, this is certainly dignified." She arched a brow at Saeldur, suppressing a smile. "You seem to have a penchant for breaking your own rules, master historian." There were glistening traces of smeared honey across the palm of his hand, and a dusting of sugar on the tip of his finger where he had brushed it from her, and almost instinctively, she closed her mouth around the tip of it, licking it off.

She blinked, and quickly cleared her throat, almost moving to nervously run a hand through her hair, and then stopping herself, realizing she'd merely end up with the concoction all over her head. _An age old seduction technique that she had used almost instinctively, without even meaning to..._She could feel the blood flushing into her cheeks, and she laughed lightly. "Ah...sorry. I had the...continued pristine condition of your books in mind, you see."

Saeldur gave her a long considering look. Slowly, purposefully, he pushed the platter aside and leaned forward, his silver eyes catching the moonlight. "But Torio, there are no books at this table currently. Just me." Gently but firmly he pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the lingering traces of honey on her lips. He pulled back slightly, exhaling softly. "I'm sorry, I...I've just wanted to kiss you since last night...since watching the play with you..."

Torio's stomach plummeted; he tasted like honey and wine and sugar, and she felt a wash of unfamiliar, deep shame as he pulled away from her..._but Sand..._

_...is more than likely bedding his 'mistress' at this very moment._

She stared at Saeldur for a long moment. "So what do you turn back into, then?" she asked quietly. "Three kisses, wasn't it?" Her hands were inordinately sticky; she kept them on the table, nudging her face forward and pressing her mouth against his once again, plying his lips open gently with her tongue, her stomach a dead weight in her body.

Saeldur returned her kiss, opening his mouth and feeling her lips moving against his. It was all he could do not to reach over and pull her to him. After a moment, he broke free of their second kiss. "Nothing, I hope. I'm perfectly happy being an elf." He touched her cheek with the back of a non-sticky finger. "But I guess one more and we'll find out..." He leaned again, his lips barely grazing hers, his silver eyes closing.

Torio exhaled, her eyes shut; she could feel the elf's mouth brushing against hers, waiting. Her blood was, thanks to the wine, rushing undeniably fast underneath her skin, and she let out a sigh as their lips met for the third time over the table.

Of course, he remained Saeldur. He didn't change into a costumed cervidal...or into another moon elven wizard with a sarcastic wit. She felt raw and undeniably sad...and momentarily stubborn. _She could stay, couldn't she?_ She needn't decide right away, with their more-likely-than-not imminent death on the horizon.

_I love you, bodaes._ The vast distance rendered the telepathy spell useless...she couldn't even feel the dull thrumming at the back of her mind anymore that used to be Sand's presence.

She pulled back from their kiss slightly...her fingers were trembling against the table. "So what did you turn into, master historian?"

Saeldur tilted his head to the side, slightly, to get a better look at the woman before him. "Unfortunately...or fortunately... I remain an elf. Oh well." He gave a small laugh. Saeldur exhaled again and then dropped into his seat. He looked out the window, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes thoughtful. "Well...perhaps I'll leave that part out of your biography." The elf fell silent again before saying softly, "Well...if you're tired, I'll escort you back to your 'room' and I'll clean up here..."

Torio exhaled, and remained standing; she picked up one of the folded napkins at the table and wiped her hands, her voice shaking slightly. "Yes, that's probably best...long day of...you know, battles and such, tomorrow." She frowned slightly at the scattered mess. "Are you sure you don't need help? You don't have to clean this all up by yourself, you know..."

Saeldur shook his head firmly. "I would be a horrible host if I invite you to dinner and then made you clean the mess." He stood, and offered his arm. "It will take no time at all. Plus, this is a scheme for me to get the rest of the pastries." He walked across the Library floor with her, taking slowly stately steps, acting for all the world like he was escorting her across a palace floor instead of a small, dusty library. He stopped in front of her sleeping room, holding both her hands in his. "Thank you, Torio, for the pleasure of your company."

Torio could feel her mouth twitching in a smile. "Thank you for dinner, Saeldur...and for not turning into a cervidal, I suppose." Her fingers squeezed his hands lightly. "Although that would have been an entertaining finale to dessert."

He was slightly taller than her; she had to tilt her head back slightly to look at his face squarely, and her stomach still settled like cold iron inside of her as she said "Goodnight," and stretched upwards, brushing his mouth lightly with hers.


	20. Chapter 20

**Volume 3, Chapter 20 – Sand: Indulge Herself  
**

When Sand reached Nivarra's room, he closed the door, sighing and leaning heavily against it. He entered his small chambers and began decanting the cooled potions into the various flasks and phials he had set up. He had somehow managed to both protect his hidden interests and Nivarra's in a single shot. The gods were clearly on his side this morning and Sand muttered a quiet word of thanks to whomever happened to be listening. He only had a handful of potions left to make; he desperately hoped he would have no further tasks today - Nivarra's room was a haven compared to the rest of the mansion.

Nivarra heard the door open and close to the small side laboratory that served as Sand's room. She was busy packing a belt pouch with coins, small gems, bits of precious metal; her fingers were trembling with suppressed anger. She wouldn't wait any longer; the phial in her bureau was burning at the back of her mind, patient and still. The healing potion had healed the majority of bruising on her cheek and across the back of her ribs, but she could still see a faded, greenish circle around her eye, and the blow was sharp in her mind.

_Bastard._ Gods, how she loathed the man; when she completed the ritual she would have more power than he had ever imagined possible, and instead of showing mercy she would kill him, slowly, until he realized the error of his ways, until he begged for her to forgive him...

She grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe, and on second thought grabbed a second, a plain, nondescript black cloak; she was slightly taller than the elf, so she knew it would cover him completely. The pouch full of wealth was tied to the belt sash on her gown, and then she was moving across the floor, pushing Sand's door open. She threw the cloak at him. "Put it on," she said sharply. "Cover your face. And follow me."

And with that, she turned, and walked towards the door to her chambers, stepping out into the hallway and heading towards the front door of the manor.

Sand jerked the hood over his head and quickly jogged over to her, following her silently, his cloak dragging on the floor. Her face had healed from the earlier blow; she was walking with a rigid determination as they exited the mansion. Sand took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. Even Luskan air was better than the stifled, oppressive air inside that house, where it was so thick you could taste it on the back of your tongue. He waited until they were some distance away before saying quietly, "Are you all right, dear girl? Where are...where are we headed?"

Nivarra hissed under her breath as she led him down an elaborately carved staircase that dropped from the front double doors. "Be _silent_, slave. Do not speak unless I direct you to. And follow me; we're going where I decide." She hated the concerned note in his voice; did she look so fragile, so ready to fall apart at the edges,that even her own servant had to inquire after her?

_He's no typical servant...and he does share your bed..._

As if men, even slaves, formed emotional attachments between bedclothes. She had to be strong; any sign of weakness now, and the elf might start getting ideas. _And she might indulge herself._ It might start appealing to her, confiding in someone, and she simply couldn't afford that.

She led them down the steps and through an iron gate that swung wide for her, allowing them access into the bustling streets outside of the estate. They were in a highly wealthy looking district; hugely spired manors and rolling, pastured estates spread out before them, interspersed with what looked like beautifully manicured public parks, and Nivarra herself had to dodge a few fine looking carriages as she walked them past it all. Her hurried, stiff steps brought them through the neighborhoods and finally through a tall, elegant gate, over which a sign stood reading _Captain's Close._

She continued onward, glancing over her shoulder occasionally to make sure Sand was keeping up. They slipped through a central street and then passed through a gate that read _Dragon's Breach_ Here, Nivarra stopped, and pressed her palm into one of the gate guards' hands; only a trained eye could spot the transfer of coin, and the guard nodded at her smoothly before letting her pass through.

The harbor was small and nondescript, insignificant ferriers and fisherman plying their trade where they could. The edge of the quay was dotted with small shops, stands, merchants, food sellers, prostitutes, shady figures. "Stay close," she whispered harshly, and (just a precaution, she told herself) reached out and grasped Sand's hand, pulling him firmly along behind her as they headed for a small side shop in front of them.

The component shop was dim, ill-lit and poorly kept; there were small, scattered bits of spilled, dried ingredients littering the floor, and an insistent, unpleasant smell permeating the air. The shopkeeper was nowhere in sight. Nivarra released Sand's hand, gesturing around her. "Find anything you can that we need, and be quick about it."

Sand nodded mutely and began moving through the store, lifting components to his nose and sniffing them. Most of it was fair quality goods; nothing compared to what Dornan had but Sand was grateful he wouldn't have to risk Dornan's storerooms again.

_But then how will you meet your contacts tonight?_

He began weighing out shards of mica, powdered amber, jade dust, crushed eggshells from a roc, before stuffing feathers from an achaierai into a small satchel, adding to it the bony tail of a cloaker beast. He shut his eyes, recalling her list from the day previous. A vial of fiend's blood, a bugbear tusk and some dragon's scales. Claw from a hippogriff. Ink from a kraken.

_By the gods, this was going to cost a fortune._

He returned to her side. "This is all you've asked me to get, mistress."

The shopkeeper appeared from the back, a wizened, one-eyed old man dressed in faded, tawdry finery. He eyed both of them for a moment. "Back, are ye, lass? Thought ye gave up the magic, ye did."

"Never mind, Firenze," she said sharply. "Here, slave, show him what we've come for."

The man eyed the components Sand had picked from the shelves, whistling low. "What're ye up to, Nivarra? I know ye've not got a use fer those things, ye'd just waste 'em with fizzled spells."

"I have money to pay you; do not concern yourself with anything else, you old pirate." She pulled the moneypouch from her sashed belt and spilled a fist-full of coins across the counter, dropping a few gems and a sliver of mithril into the pile. "Will this cover it?"

Firenze grinned at her, and then Sand. "Aye, it will. Foine, keep yer secrets, ye wench, but don't come cryin' te me when ye've burned yer limbs off."

They left the merchant, and Nivarra eyed Sand coolly; the elf's face was nearly completely hidden by the heavy hood, but she could catch a gleam of blue eyes, a flash of a mobile, downturned mouth. She opened her mouth to order him to follow her once again. Instead, what came out was, "Is there anything else you'll need, wizard, while we're here?"

Sand turned his head sharply to the side, looking curiously into her hazel eyes. "Anything else I need? Should there be something else that I need?" He asked her warily. Was this a test of sorts? "What does my mistress think I need?"

Sand realized it was easier for her to let her make all the decisions, or at least think she did. She seemed to enjoy having him defer all aspects of choices to her, even the simplest ones. "There is not much that I personally, think that I need, that you haven't provided. Shelter, food, clothing." He gave a cold laugh.

Nivarra snorted. "Then follow me, slave, and try to keep up?" She turned with a swish of her cloak, and led him deeper into the Breach, dodging sailors, fishermen, ferrymen, peddlers...they weaved away from the harbor and delved into some of the darker side streets, and then Nivarra suddenly stopped, rapping her knuckles sharply on a seemingly nondescript doorway.

It opened a crack, and a pale, expressionless female face eyed her warily before opening the door fully. "Welcome, Mistress."

They entered what looked to be a temple, decorated in dull, black trappings, every piece of furniture and decoration carved from stone. A group of dark robed individuals knelt towards the front of the chamber, their heads bowed, and Nivarra whispered, "Stay here," to Sand before walking towards them. Two of the robed figures stood as she approached and moved off to the side with her, holding a whispered conversation.

The woman at the door stared at Sand, her voice even, but her clear blue eyes openly hostile. "You're one of Mystra's ilk," she said softly, her hands folded within the depths of her robes.

Sand lifted his chin, and met her stare full-on. "Yes. Yes I am. Will this be a problem? I am here only at the bidding of my Mistress..." He knew where he was; he could feel the dark energies of the Shadow Weave around him, how his link to Mystra's Weave seemed to dim as he stared around the black temple dedicated to Shar.

He continued to gaze, unafraid at the woman. As if being caught in conflicts between Neverwinter and Luskan, Neverwinter and the King of Shadows, the servants and Dornan, Nivarra and Dornan weren't enough, it appeared he was about to step directly in the middle between Shar and Mystra. "Shall I wait outside for my Mistress? Would this put you more at ease, girl?"

The woman stared hard at Sand for a long moment. "Your mistress is not an acolyte here," she said quietly. "Therefore her commands make no mind to me. I would prefer you wait outside; however, if you stay, do not move from this spot, else you bring the wrath of the priesthood down on your head." She moved back into the shadows, melting into the scenery until only a sliver of her eyes could be seen; waiting for the next knock on the door, should it come.

Nivarra's face could be seen across the room as she conversed with the two robed figures. She looked angry; their hands were held up, placating, soothing, but after a moment she merely nodded stiffly at them and swept past, moving towards the entrance with quick, clipped steps. "We're leaving," she said coldly as she approached Sand. The woman stepped forward once again and opened the door for them; her eyes followed Sand unerringly as they walked through the door and back out into the streets.

Sand pulled the hood low over his head again as they stepped outside. Nivarra led them quickly through the streets, moving from the shadier parts of Luskan towards her posh neighbourhood. He could sense her displeasure rolling off her rigid form as she practically stomped home. Keeping his eyes forward and his head lowered, he said softly, "What happened, mistress? Stop a minute; let's speak before we reach your father's house. We can speak in the streets or move off to a tea house."

Nivarra looked back at him, her face tight with anger. She was about to reprimand him yet again, but...he had a point. Her father would be keeping a closer eye on her now, and she couldn't risk him overhearing this particular part of her plot.

"Very well," she said stiffly. "Follow me." She pulled Sand down the street a ways and into a small, side tavern, the room suitably crowded for the brunch hour. They weaved between a few casual diners and she dropped into a table in the corner, suitably close to the door. When the barmaid approached them with a cheerful, questioning smile, one look at Nivarra's face sent the woman practically reeling away.

Nivarra leaned in close, glancing at the taverngoers around her and tugging Sand's hood forward, a parody of an intimate gesture; she whispered, "Shar's temple has been...aiding me in an endeavor of mine for the past few weeks. I'm almost fully prepared for what needs to be done." Her mouth twisted distastefully. "Apparently they have other plans. I am being told to wait, to have patience, to attend on Shar's will...pah! I'm no priest, and I'm running out of time." Her eyes darted furtively over the crowd once again. "What if I were to show you a certain ritual I needed performed, slave? Would you be able to complete it?"

Sand leaned in, feeling the puff of her breath with every word she spoke on his cheek. "Depending on what type of spells needs to be cast, Mistress. I have no divine touch; but if they were arcane in nature - maybe." His eyes followed hers around the room. The tavern was noisy, rowdy. "But as a follower of Mystra there may be an issue with me casting spells of Shar. I'll need to know more, I'll need to study it. If there is a way to do it, I am certain I will be able to discover it."

Nivarra narrowed her eyes. _Should she trust him?_

With the recent impertinence of the Priests sticking in her craw, did she really have a choice? She wouldn't wait another week, and not nearly as long as the Priesthood wanted her to; the spell would be cast or she would die trying it.

"Very well," she said lowly. "Come, let us return; I have much to show you."

She stood, and pulled Sand none-too-gently after her, back out into the streets and towards her mansion. As they approached the front gates, she thought she saw a shape behind them quickly darting from view...but when she turned to look, there was only the normal daily bustle of foot and carriage traffic through her neighborhood.

The gates opened for them, as did the front doors. She glanced warily at the guards as she passed them, but they stared straight ahead, making no move except to shut the door behind her and Sand. The long maze of corridors stretched out before them, and soon she approached her own chambers, her heart thumping with anticipation.

Once again, the guard didn't look at her, merely opened her door; her room stretched out before them, and she ensured the door was shut tightly behind them before moving to her vanity desk. She pushed it slightly aside, and opened the secret door behind it, gesturing to Sand. "Here, slave." The dusty study opened up once again before Sand's eyes, albeit this time the little alcove looked different; most of the mess had been cleaned, and there seemed to be some order to the opened pages across the desk. She pulled the topmost tome forward, pointing down at the ritual. "This," she said sharply. "This is what I need you to cast."

Sand scanned the faded scripts on the pages. "Oh yes...I see." He flipped a few pages forward, his blue eyes taking in the information eagerly. "I love a challenge, dear girl. It's best done with a mage of Shar, obviously, with one of her priestesses presence for support. But given the circumstances - I think I can. I'll need your notes as well and what you've done or tried. And a few days."

Sand couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement, his heart rate increasing as he looked over the parchments. Invoking the Nightbringer would mean opening up a channel between the Shadow Weave and Nivarra, but it would be controlled by him, the spellcaster. The geas that linked them together would be malleable for manipulation during this time and for the briefest of moments, he would be holding the key to Nivarra's life, soul and power.

The tables would be turned. He could bargain for his freedom; he would hold the power.

Nivarra eyed him warily for a long moment, before turning and gathering up loose rolls of parchment. She pressed the notes into his hands, along with the spellbook. "Study it, then," she said evenly. "You'll still have to find time to manage my father's potion requests, but you'll simply have to adapt. I want to be prepared to perform this ritual no later than in a week's time; do _not_ fail me in this, wizard." She leaned close, her eyes gleaming. "If we succeed then nothing in the world will stop us, you and I; and then I can 'maneuver' my father out of the way for good."

She turned, waving to the study behind her. "Take anything else you might need; but remember, the servants must not see what you have; hide it if you're not using it." She touched the top drawer of her vanity almost lovingly. "I'll take care of my father, soon enough."

Sand greedily grasped at the notes. "Oh yes, Mistress, I will not fail you. This opportunity is too great to pass up or not succeed..." He exited the small hidden room and watched Nivarra close it back up. "I'll be in my chambers if I am needed."

Once in his own room (funny how quickly the small prison had become his room) he spread out the papers and books on the desk while lighting a small flame on the alchemical bench to start brewing potions for Dornan. He always did his best thinking when he was making potions.

Her notes were detailed and meticulous. She had several good ideas and more than once Sand was amazed at her astute observations. But she hadn't quite put it all together yet; she had all the pieces of the puzzle and was trying, in her youth and impatience, to cram them together no matter ill-fitting they would be. Sand chuckled.

He had his dinner in his small room, eating while reading, hardly aware of Nivarra's comings and goings. He was beginning to realize that he would be able to twist Shar's hatred of Mystra to his advantage; however if she were to become a Nightbringer, it would leave him in a very precarious position. In fact, it was a major concern of his that the Nightbringer avatar would take her over and Nivarra would not be strong enough to resist.

Sand didn't like his chances against a Nightbringer of Shar. At his point, he'd almost prefer a Shadow Reaver. He finished brewing the last of Dornan's potions, and then picked up the list of spells to be memorized. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the dying candle. Picking up his spellbook, he walked back into Nivarra's room, undressing and then climbing into the bed, without even waiting for her to ask for him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Volume 3, Chapter 21 – Torio: Bloody Sunrise**

The sun dawned the next morning, bright and warm as usual. Saeldur stood outside Torio's door, having woken up early and having already been downstairs to see the priests of Pelor and the people below. He touched the wood of the door, remember the feel of her mouth against his. A part of him hoped she didn't regret her actions last night; another part of him chastised him for placing himself between her and her lover. _The_ _lover who was apparently was with another woman_. The elf knocked gently, "Torio? I am very sorry to disturb you, but the people want to know if they can leave the temple, walk around and such? They promise not to stray too far from the tower..."

Torio groaned into the pillow her face was pressed against. Her head was pounding...she would definitely need to lay off the wine. She stretched, hearing Saeldur's voice float through the door. Her mouth curled into a sleepy smile; she felt blissful, contented, her bed soft and comfortable beneath her. Once they defeated the devils she'd be able to move into a regular bed in the town, _not that the floor was terribly hard_...it would be better than roughing it with the lupinals, but she'd only have to go out with them occasionally, _and then when she returned to the library..._

Her eyes snapped open fully.

She sat up, pressing her fingers to her head. She was in the library..._and Saeldur was still at the door._ She rubbed her hands across her face for a moment, her disjointed, warm thoughts sending a buzz of confusion through her as she stood and moved to the door, pulling it open. Sure enough, Saeldur's voice turned into Saeldur himself, and she smiled wearily at him. "Good morning...they want to leave the temple, do they?" She leaned against the doorframe, pursing her lips. "Is there any word from Prince Talisid or the others on the devils? I suppose they can go out, but I want guardinals with them."

Saeldur shrugged. "Everything is peaceful and quiet. And nobody was taken last night either. If it wasn't for the entire city in the floors below me, I would scarcely believe a war was coming. I'll let them know they are allowed to leave with guardinals for protection. There's food downstairs as well. Your halfling friend is eager to share breakfast with you." The elf smiled at her, brushing some hair out of her face. "Big day for you today again. Come, we'll go downstairs together. I am going to bring food up for Lend."

Torio followed Saeldur downstairs, her head still thrumming unpleasantly. She felt strangely lighthearted, watching the elf's long hair swing and shift in front of her as they descended the staircase. There had been something she was trying to decide, something her mind had stubbornly been clinging to, but she couldn't quite place it...

It had almost formed in her mind, her stomach sinking slightly, when Brandobras was clapping her on the back (her lower back) and dragging her towards one of the tables set up along the wall. "Come on, come on...you'd think you never ate breakfast, the way you sleep in the mornings!" There was something unidentifiable and scrambled and hot waiting on a plate in front of her, and someone placed a mug of steaming dark liquid next to her hand as she sat down.

Brandobras chattered as she ate; apparently no one had gone missing in the night, and Prince Talisid was forming a small squad this morning to be sent through to locate the captives. "Which means we might be expecting an attack soon," said the halfling, lowering his voice with a glance towards the townsfolk that were desperately trying not to look like they were eavesdropping. "None of the scouts know exactly when, but it's a good thing we've gotten most of our preparations done already!"

The drink tasted remotely like coffee, in that it was hot and slightly bitter, but there was a rich, nutty taste to it that made it something infinitely better. The food was, of course, delicious. Torio finished her breakfast in record time, just to look out one of the windows and see a small crowd of people moving around the streets, and squad of cervidals moving amongst them.

"We'll have to get them in quickly, then," she said quietly. "They won't be able to linger long if attack is imminent." She felt a slight twisting in her stomach as she watched a group of children form a singsong ring and began dancing in a circle...

Brandobras nodded, "Just give them a few more minutes. Devils won't attack in full daylight...will they?" The halfling looked uncertain. "In anycase, Dahras would like you to check the lupinal archers in position today since it's their first day on duty. He's taking this very seriously, calling you his Sister-General. I keep telling him there's no such position but he's taken to the term. I'll come walk with you. We have to refill some of our water barrels in any case. I'll get some of the equinals to help carry those. By the gods, equinals are strong, did you know?"

Saeldur passed by the table with a heaping platter of food for the ursinal upstairs. Balancing the tray with one hand, he reached out and squeezed Torio's shoulders. "If you're leaving the tower, please...be careful. My historical entry on you would be terribly boring if you died today." His tone was light but his silver eyes were creased with worry. He moved away and up the stairs.

Torio smiled slightly, watching Saeldur disappear up the stairs a moment before she stood, brushing herself down. "Sister-General is it?" She chuckled, gesturing for Brandobras to precede her out the door. "I've most definitely never heard that one before. And what shall we call you?" They stepped out into the sunlight, some of the townsfolk released from the temple waving at them as they passed on their way towards the outer buildings. "Inspector General of Supplies? Head Master Food Taster?"

She caught sight of Dahras conversing with two other lupinals at the base of one of the makeshift ladders they had embedded into the walls of the buildings yesterday, and she headed over to him, Brandobras on her heels. "Good morning," she said lightly, nodding to all of them. "What's the word, Dahras? How are the archers?"

Dahras gave her a huge grin. "Sister-General!" He saluted her. "The archers are in excellent condition! We're looking forward to kicking some devilish ass!"

Brandobras merely raised an eyebrow. "Language, Dahras! What would your mother say if she could hear you?"

The lupinal chuckled, "She'd probably say, 'Go get 'em'?" Dahras saluted again. "You can count on us, Sister-General. Whatever comes our way, we'll be ready for it."

Brandobras chuckled and then began walking towards the River. "Torio, some of the merchants on the River have also asked for protection because they can't ferry themselves away quick enough. What do you say?" He gestured for the small handful of boats lining the riverbank as it wound its way through the city.

Torio eyed the boats on the bank, frowning slightly. "I didn't see the merchants yesterday...where did they come from, did they say?" She had walked Gwillikins full around, twice, and hadn't seen hide nor hair of a boat on the river the morning prior. She sighed, pinching her nose. "Well, let's go take a look at them, then. Maybe they'll have some explanation for it; we could probably fit them into the temple with the others." She headed down towards the bank; a few nondescript figures waved at her as she and Brandobras approached, and she lifted her hand in greeting as well...

_...curious...what was that smell? She'd smelled it before, faintly, she couldn't quite place it..._

A human on one of the ships smiled at her as she stopped on the edge of the bank. "Ahoy, Ambassador! Got any room for a few sailors and merchants?"

_...where had she smelled it? _Her mind clicked on it sluggishly, her memory moving like some writhing, struggling thing; the night on the river, with the serpent, when he had asked her to assassinate Prince Talisid or the avoral leader...

_Sulphur._ It had clung to the snake, faintly, but unmistakable. And she could smell it now, too.

A tiny alarm went off in her head, and she could feel the blood draining from her face as the human on the ship's smile faded, and his eyes narrowed at her. She pushed Brandobras behind her slightly, backing up a step. "Merchants and sailors, is it? When did you arrive here?" Her voice was cautious, cool, but her blood was pounding.

The merchant sailor took a step off his boat and began walking towards Torio, his posture menacing. "Now there, Ambassador - what's with the sudden lack of love?" As he came closer and closer to Torio and the halfling, his skin began blurring and shifting and the man seemed to stretch impossibly taller until he stood over 7 feet tall. His skin suddenly turned green and long, sharp spikes erupted from his flesh, along with a long barbed tail.

The barbed devil grinned down at the human. "When did we arrive? Oh days ago, little human. We've infiltrated all your precious cities. Attack!" He leapt forward toward Torio, his claws extended. Behind him, emerging from the boat were two bearded devils and six lemures. The bearded devils were wielding large, bloodied glaives and yelling for the lemures to hurry off the boats.

Dahras could be heard behind them, yelling for the archers to fire at will.

Torio had time to kick Brandobras out of the way and grip the hilt of her kris before the claws were upon her; she felt the hardened, boiled leather crunch, bend, and give as the poniard claws pierced through her shoulder and her side, and she cried out, swearing violently as the kris slithered from its sheath. The tips of the claws drove into her skin, but the leather kept their entire length from entering her body, and she sliced upwards into the devil's palm, falling back onto one knee.

A hail of arrows flew over her head, dropping down like a horde of angry bees onto the devils still trying to clamber off of the boat. Torio cried out at the top of her lungs, "To me!" and tried to maneuver herself out from under the claw that pinned her.

The barbed devil gave a roar of pain as it felt Torio resist, pulling her towards his prickly body like some sort of infernal porcupine and staring into her eyes. "Give up, girl...do you think that because you fight in the Heavens you won't go to the Hells when you die?" More of the quills punctured through her leathers and the devil gave her a large toothy grin; but suddenly both the devil and Torio were knocked flat to the ground by a charging equinal. The massive horselike warrior whinnied triumphantly, prying the devil away from Torio before beginning to pound on the hellish creature with his bare hands, taking cuts himself on the sharp barbs.

Brandobras had the wind knocked out of him and he lay there, dazed for a moment, as it seemed like the entire world around him erupted into chaos. He could hear the sounds of battle, the whizzing of arrows... He sat him, ducking a bit and then shouted, "I'm warning those at the tower! We're under attack! We have to warn the Prince..." He bolted for the tower, his short legs moving as quickly as they could.

The lupinal archers made short work of the lemures, who were barely able to get off the boat before being embedded full of arrows. Cervidals were charging at the bearded devils, their faces grim, their eyes gleaming. The bearded devils' glaives could be seen flashing in the sunlight, sprays of blood flying in the air as the cervidals screamed in pain and anger.

Torio's body stung with pins and needles of fire as she scrambled back over the grass, blood seeping through her armor and leaving a scarlet trail across the green carpet below her. She stuck the point of her kris into the ground and hauled herself to her feet, staggering back between the ranks of forward charging guardinals.

"Dahras!" She shouted, near screaming over the din. "Archers, north and south flank!" She was amazed that none of the guardinals had been hit by friendly arrows so far. Her eyes flicked over the scene before her for a half-heartbeat; the equinals were nearly mad with joyous battle-craze, ignoring their own wounds and throwing themselves into battle in near ecstacy. She sprinted haphazardly towards one of the ladders on the side of the nearest building, and climbed up halfway, hollering over the cacophony, "Form a line, godsdamnit! Draw back from the boat!" She could hardly think straight; she could feel hot, sticky liquid trickling down the inside of her armor, the sweat on her skin making the multiple piercing wounds sting and throb in agony.

Dahras ran over to Torio, grabbing her arms and hauling her up onto the rooftop with him. "Sister-General! You're hurt but you took on that devil all by yourself! That was phenomenal!" He dropped his bow on the ground and quietly cast a minor cure spell on her. "Not much but it'll slow the bleeding until we can find a healer. But look! We're winning!"

He pointed to the battlefield, holding her up with his strong arms. Below them, they could see all the lemures were dead. One of the bearded devils was down, lying unmoving in the grass while the other was completely surrounded by cervidals. The equinal that had pulled Torio from the barbed devil lay fallen in a mangled heap, covered in blood. The barbed devil was barely fending off attacks from other equinals and soon, it too, fell defeated.

For a long second, there was nothing but silence.

Dahras looked at Torio. "That was it? I was expecting more."

Torio's breath came a little easier as the minor spell washed over her. She frowned, squinting down at the blood soaked riverbank. "No," she said, after a moment, "This can't be right. He did say they were in other cities, as well...are their forces so split up?"

She stared at the lazily keeling boats in the water for a moment longer, before suddenly paling. "Back to the tower," she said sharply. "I want archers posted on every rooftop; sound the alarm if you see anything. Everyone else, back to the tower!"

As Torio and the others ran back to the tower, a large avoral came crashing down to the ground, her wings torn and bloodied. "Torio! They've been using the River! Oh gods - they came out of nowhere... Prince Talisid wants you with his army now!"

The cervidals crowded around her, healing her as best they can.

_"...what's happening?" _

_"...just Torio?"_

_"...Do we go too? What about Gwillikens?"_

The avoral stood shakily. "From what I understood, small stealthy groups of devils were dispatched to many of the cities and towns along the River. It was like that was a game for them, to show us they could infiltrate our ranks so easily - to kill as many of the civilians as they could." Her voice rose, shrill. "But the main army is moving to meet Prince Talisid head on, on the battlefield now. He's headed north." The avoral's eyes rolled in her head in a panic. "There's so many of them and they keep calling up more."

The door to the tower suddenly opens and Lend and Saeldur came rushing out with Brandobras. The relief in their eyes was evident. "Oh gods, you're all right." Saeldur gave her an embrace. Brandobras was tugging on her sleeve. "Dahras...is he all right?"

"Dahras is fine." Her voice sounded grim, even in her own ears; she pulled back from Saeldur slightly, a frown creasing her forehead. "Our losses were surprisingly light. So far. Can somebody see to the messenger?" The avoral looked much worse for wear; a few of the cervidals surrounded the winged creature as she looked back towards Brandobras, Saeldur, and Lend. "Talisid wants me on the field," she said quietly. "I have to leave, now..." Her eyes flicked to Saeldur's face, but she merely straightened her shoulders in a brisk, businesslike fashion. "Is there a faster way I can reach the army besides on foot?"

Saeldur nodded. "The River will take you there in half the time. I..." He grabbed her arm. "I'm coming with you. A historian needs to be able to record the battle as he sees it. I've spent too long in the library."

Squire Sirrow popped out of the tower. "I will have the people prepare the ships for you. Pack your gear, get your supplies. We'll be ready to leave in a quarter of an hour or so help me gods, my name isn't Segamore Sirrow!" He re-entered the tower, looking for the first time, like the leader of the town.

Lend placed a heavy paw on Torio's shoulder. "I am coming as well. The ursinals have always served by their Prince's side in combat. This war will be no different. We can probably divert half the unit here to the Prince."

Brandobras looked torn. "I'm...I'm going to stay here Torio. There's still much that needs to be done here, especially for the fallen." He threw his arms around her waist. "Please be careful. Thank you for saving my life out there..."

Torio stared around her in amazement for half a second. Their eyes shot through her, pierced her more effectively than the devils' talons had moments before. She kneeled down and slipped an arm around Brandobras' shoulders, planting a light kiss on his cheek. "Be safe, yourself," she murmured, and then stood, watching the halfling turn and disappear in the direction of the small battleground, a cervidal escort hot on his heels.

She turned to Lend. "If you can mobilize half our force here, and get them down to the river, I'll grab us some supplies from the temple and meet you; we've got no time to lose." Her eyes flicked to Saeldur, and she glanced at the guardinals pressed around them before grabbing his arm lightly, and pulling him off to the side.

"Are you sure you want to come? You don't need to...prove anything, you know. By the hells, _I_ shouldn't even be going out there...I'm no grand warrior." She gestured to her hole-punched armor, the skin beneath it now smooth from the healing spells. Her mouth was tight with worry. "Saeldur, if you come with and anything should happen..." _It'd be my fault..._She knew the truth of it even if she didn't say it

Saeldur laughed, his voice surprisingly light despite the seriousness of the situation. "Well I've already died once, what's a second time? Especially for something this important. I'll finally be able to answer the question of where souls of the dead go once they've died again." He turned his head and looked over the guardinals and the scenery before him. A peaceful silence had once again fallen over the town. "Look, I'm not saying I'm going to run into combat or anything like that. But you will need help bandaging wounds and running simple errands such as getting water, food. If I can help with that, then the warriors can worry about what they do best - fighting."

The elf placed his hands upon her shoulders. "Now is the time when everybody needs help. Don't turn my help aside for whatever reason. I'm not doing this to prove anything but too long have I lived in Elysium and have taken from her; it's time for me to give back in the only way I know how. Now, I'm going upstairs and I'm getting my quills and ink and such. Don't leave without me. Promise!"

Torio snorted at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. "Fine. I promise, as long as you promise to hurry." She watched the elf duck back into the tower, and sighed, bunching her fingers into a handful of her short hair and pulling on it in mild frustration.

She mused as she collected a small pack of supplies and swung it onto her shoulders by the entrance to the temple. She certainly had no death wish. There was a nagging voice at the back of her head that whispered she was a fool, playing the part of the warrior, wearing hardened leather and weapons and ordering battle maneuvers; in truth she had a wealth of knowledge on battle tactics that she had read about, but seeing them practiced in theory was another matter altogether.

_Well_. It was a chance to put such knowledge to good use, at the very least. Using it as it was meant to be used, instead of twisting it, manipulating it, forcing it to thread into some complicated, nefarious plot. She watched the door to the temple, fidgeting anxiously while the guardinals waited patiently for her to signal she was ready to leave. If she had room...if she had energy to spare, she would have paced a groove into the cobblestone by now, waiting for Saeldur.

The elf re-emerged a scant five minutes later, looking slightly frazzled but excited. "I think I have everything I need." He looked at the activity along the River where the townsfolks were bringing out rafts, boats, and barges of all shapes and sizes. Food and supplies were rapidly being packed in, Squire Sirrow directing the people with his characteristic fluttering nervousness. Saeldur reached out and squeezed Torio's hand. "All right, fair leader, pick your vessel and I will follow.

Torio led them onto the lead boat, the small vessel rocking and keeling slightly in the water as they added their weight to those already on it. She found a spot where she could kneel comfortably by the side, and held on as the boats pushed off from shore and began punting down the river, the guardinal bodies around her swaying and shifting as the boat slid along the water...Saeldur sat somewhere close by, next to and slightly behind her as the barges and riverboats picked up a steady pace down the river.


	22. Chapter 22

**Volume 3, Chapter 22 – Sand: A Debt's A Debt**

Nivarra entered her room some time later, glancing over her shoulder absently as she shut the door. The servants were acting slightly off this evening; at dinner, one of the maids had seemed distracted, absentminded, and the girl had spilled hot soup down her father's lap. The resultant beating had not been pretty, and her father had left to get cleaned up, leaving her to dine alone.

Still, since she wasn't _In charge_ of the servants anymore, she supposed she'd let her father handle it. Her mouth curled smugly. _Let him deal with the grievances, hassles, and frustrations by himself, for once._ He would be begging for her assistance soon enough...and then soon after, his life. And then he would be doing nothing at all.

She laughed in genuine amusement, her voice sharp and high, at Sand lying in her bed, undressed and bent over his spellbook. "Eager, are we little tool?" She sat at her vanity, after pulling off her overdress, her white shift hanging loosely around her narrow body. She began brushing out her hair, deliberately taking her time. "You seem to be getting comfortable in here, slave."

Sand glanced up at her, closing his spellbook and rolling over until he was closer to her. "Comfortable? No, Mistress, just thinking to warm your bed for you. You do like going to bed with warm sheets, do you not?" He sat up. "Shall I return to my chambers? There is still much that I need to do, but as it should please you, I've made quite a bit of progress. Your notes are...formidable, dear girl. There is much potential but much left to do. Or...I can stay without until you fall asleep and continue working in my chambers?"

Nivarra tossed her hair over her shoulder, and stood from her chair, eyeing him coldly. _Stay with her until she fell asleep?_ Her own slave, coddling her?

Hadn't she told him that very first day to anticipate her needs? That's all he was doing, and yet the sight of him stretched easily out on her bed had made her laugh, of all things. She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice crisp. "I don't _need_ you to stay for anything, _slave_," she snapped. "Go on, get out. You have a _lot_ of work to do, don't you?"

Sand hopped down from the bed, nodding at her quietly, "Very well, Mistress. I shall see you in the morning then." He quickly retreated to his chambers, sitting at his desk and reading through his spellbook. His candle burnt lower and lower until they were nothing more than tiny nubs. He looked up from his studies and then stuck his head into Nivarra's room. She was in her bed, her breathing seemingly regular - but just in case, Sand cast _Sleep_ on her, watching her relax even further.

Casting _Mage Hand_, he wrote a note for Birren - writing simply that she had taken him out to purchase components because of a falling out she had had with her father regarding the guards and the servants, having to stop only a few times as the Geas within him twisted his stomach in pain, but it was a pain no worse than the time he had accidentally ingested Grobnar's whitethistle wine. He tucked the note into his robes, sighing.

Quickly, he cast _Ethereal Jaunt_. Once again the material world around him became a hazy grey as he floated through walls and floors, past guards and down to the servants quarters. He watched the activity around him and then floated through the hallways until he found the small cell where Matthew was being held.

Matthew thought he heard a noise approaching his cell, and opened one swollen eye. He pushed himself up from where he lay face down on the floor of his cell; his back was raw and crusted with drying blood, the shreds of his tunic embedded in the torn skin. He crawled to the entrance to his cell and pulled himself up, gripping the bars across the small window in the door and peering out into the hallway.

Nothing. Matthew's eyes darted up and down the hall, and he whispered, "Who's there?"

There was a strange..._shifting_...in the air, and then the elven wizard, Sand, appeared outside of his door. Matthew croaked hoarsely, "Wizard!! What are you doing...if they catch you down here it'll be your back for sure." His tone was worried, but after a moment the man grinned through his bruised, swollen face. "I knew you'd come down here; pampered pets of Lord Dornan's daughter don't earn a day on the grounds for licking boots." His fingers were shaking with the effort of holding himself up. "Can you get us out? Friya's next to me...I can't tell if she's all right or not, the walls down here are too thick, and she stopped tapping on her door hours ago..."

Sand nodded, "I'm going invisible but I'll still be here." He cast the spell and popped out of sight. "All right; if I get you out, don't you think Dornan and the others will suspect something? You'll just get the other servants and slaves in trouble. What's your plan? I'll check on Friya for you though." Sand moved silently over to the girl's door and peered in.

Friya was lying facedown on the floor of her cell, unmoving. Her back was tattered and bloodied like Matthew's, and her eyes were closed, one cheek resting on the back of her hand. She seemed to be breathing, albeit shallowly.

Matthews voice floated through his door. "If you can get us back in here before morning, they won't know the difference; but tonight the timing is terrible. Look," he wiggled his fingers frantically, gesturing Sand closer. "There's a meeting tonight," he whispered. "I don't know if you got the word; we're planning something, something big, and we might need your help. There's someone from the outside that's willing to help us, that's in the manor right now, and if we don't talk to them tonight who knows when they'll be able to get in again. Get us out, let Alysin heal us, for gods sakes...Friya, at the very least...let us talk to the others, form a plan, and I'll let you put us both back in here when we're done." Matthew's voice was pleading. "I hate to ask you to risk yourself yet again, wizard, but...we don't have a choice. You can help us." His eyes were gleaming fervently through the bars, feverish in their intensity. "Please."

"The girl's alive." Sand sighed. "All right. But if we're caught... You know what I had to do to earn Nivarra's trust and favor again? Actually, never mind. I think you do and let us never mention it again." He cast _Knock_ on both the locks, swinging the door open. "I hope you don't mind, friend, but I'm going to stay invisible. Tend to the girl; I'll cast an _Invisibility_ spell on you when it's time to move to your contact. In the mean time, there's something I need to do."

He moved slowly and quietly down the hall, until he found the small alcove with the broken barrels and crates. This time he was careful to keep alert all around him for guards and waited for Birren's contact.

A tall, angular adolescent human walked quietly down the hall, his hands in his pockets, his eyes cast towards the ground. He looked around the meeting spot for a moment, before leaning against the wall, almost nonchalant in his manner.

Sand approached the youth and coughed twice. "I'm invisible. Last time I was here I was caught so you'll have to excuse me if I remain unseen." He stuffed the parchment into the boy's hand, where it magically reappeared. Without waiting to see what the human did, Sand turned and went back to where Matthew was bent over Friya. "Don't have Alysin heal her too much; that would be suspicious. I know you care for her, but now's the time to be smart about things." Sand stood at the entrance to the cell. "Tell me more about this contact and this plan...I'll need to know to best prepare my spells."

Matthew hauled a drowsy, semi-conscious Friya up onto her feet, pulling her arm around his shoulder. "It's a man that Alysin knows," he said quietly, pulling Friya along with him as they moved to the cell door. "Someone with the Moonstars. Apparently Dornan's new prestigious status with the Hosttower has got some of their agents interested; they're willin' to help us out, if we pass on information on His Lordship and her daughter."

Friya groaned quietly, and Matthew winced. "Look, we need to hurry; she's bad off; I know, all right, so Alysin doesn't have to heal her all the way, but she's lost so much blood already..."

Sand cast _Invisibility Sphere _on Matthew and watched with satisfaction as both him and Friya popped out of view. Closing the cell doors, he double checked that any guards walking by wouldn't notice anything was amiss. He helped Matthew carry her down the hallway until they reached Alysin's door. He heard a sharp rapping and then the boy called out gently, "Alysin. Friya needs your help."

The door swung open and the cleric stared right through them, confused. Matthew spoke again, "We're invisible. We're coming in." Sand followed them in silently, staying by the door and watching Friya reappear as Matthew gently lay her down.

Alysin's shoulder seemed to stiffen slightly, but she calmly held the door open and shut it after an indeterminable time had passed. "Well," she said after a moment. "I won't pretend to scold you three for what you're doing; the meeting tonight is too important, so if you'll simply guide my hands on to poor Friya, I'll heal her right up..."

"Not all the way, Alysin," said Matthew's bodiless voice. "We'll have to return to the cells once the meetin's over with."

Her eyes furrowed in displeasure for a moment, but she nodded. "It's sits raw with me, dearie, but I suppose I understand the need. Come come, give me Friya, one of you, I can't see where she's at..."

Matthew reached out, taking Alysin's hand in his, and placing it on Friya's back. The old woman's face flinched slightly as she felt the blood under her hands. "By gods...that man is going to kill us all one day, mark my words." She began incanting, casting a simple, low level healing spell; Friya inhaled deeply, and said, in a small voice, "Where...why are we out of the cells?"

"Meeting, dear," said Matthew, and grasped Alysin's hand in his briefly. "We've got to go, Alysin...are you coming?"

She shook her head, staring at some point between Matthew and Sand. "No, love. I've done what I can for you, but I can only risk so much; if I'm replaced you'll get a temple healer, and they don't care what happens to the lot of you." Her wizened face cracked in a smile. "I can't let that happen."

She opened the door for them and gestured. "Go, go! Hurry."

Sand helped Matthew carry Friya back to her cell. As the boy put her down and stepped away, she reappeared, looking much better than before. The wizard carefully closed the cell and locked the padlock with a click. He then reached out and grasped the boy's arm. "All right. Lead me to your meeting. I have heard of the Moonstars; they're like Harpers aren't they?"

Matthew whispered as he led Sand through the corridors, back up the stairs to the main floor and the servants quarters. "Similar, yes…supposedly Blackstaff himself has a hand in their running. One of their portals is here in Luskan, so the city is practically crawling with agents." Matthews voice became sly as he turned the corner leading towards the servants quarters. "Not that the Hosttower knows it. For all powerful mages they seem to miss a lot that happens amongst the dregs of society." He tapped three times on the chamber doors and waited. "All the better for us, I suppose."

The door swung open, and a young boy looked out at them...or through them, confusedly. "It's me Pat, invisible...let me in."

The boy's face lit up. "Matthew!" He opened the door wide, standing off to the side and letting the two invisible men enter the common room servant's quarters. The door shut silently behind them, and the sound of the bolt being driven home could be heard.

All the servants and slaves were gathered at one end of the common room, shifting uneasily. A figure was leaning against the deeply shadowed back wall, a thin curl of blue smoke rising from the shadow-darkened shape. Matthew waited for Sand to dispel their invisibility, and when they were both seen by the crown of servants the resultant, joyful, relieved cries were almost incomprehensible as everyone rushed forward to hug Matthew (who bore it up with much painful grimacing) and, surprisingly, Sand as well.

"...worried sick, Matthew, where have..."

"...you brought him! Oh mister elf, thank you so much, we were so afraid..."

"...Friya? I can't imagine what they done to the poor girl, is she all..."

There was a short, sharp rap from across the room, and the figure stepped out from the shadows; a half-elven woman, her scarlet hair touched with strands of grey, walked towards them slowly. Her face was smooth and still youthful, barring a few spiderwebbing lines that crinkled at the corners of her eyes and mouth. A short, thickly-sweet smelling pipe rested between her lips, smoke curling from it as she eyed Matthew appraisingly. Her knuckle-gloved hands rested on her hips, and after a moment, she spoke, her voice throaty and slightly hoarse. "From the look of you, I believe you most definitely need our help." Her pale hazel eyes flicked to Sand's face. "And who is this?"

Sand looked up at the woman, "My name is Sand. I'm one of Nivarra's personal slaves, her wizard. I..." He glanced at the group of servants but figured he didn't have much to lose and everything to gain. "I'm a ...well I _was_ a spy for Neverwinter. Sent to Luskan to on a mission and was captured on the way out due to an unfortunate run-in with the Harbor Master."

He leaned towards the agent. "I used to travel with the Shard-Bearer, the Knight-Captains of Crossroad Keep." His heart was beating so rapidly; he realized he was feeling hopeful, truly hopeful, for the first time in days. "Let's get on with the meeting. I have to get back to the girl's room before she wakes and discovers me gone."

Matthew nodded. "Right. Let's get down to it, then; This here's Doss Abelin, an agent for the Moonstars; she's got Maxxil's ears himself, so pay attention to what she has to say. Apparently they've been watching Lord Dornan, and especially his daughter, for quite some time now." Matthew looked at the hopeful faces around them. "She thinks she might have a way to get us out."

"That I do," said the half-elf, sucking on the end of the pipe. "Maxxil's been looking for a way to get Dornan out of the picture for months; the man's got his fingers in too many business ventures, too many shady deals that end up in a lot of honest tradesmen turning indentured servant or even slave to his household." She blew a smoke ring and cocked an eyebrow. "As all of you know. A debt's a debt, and needs to be paid, but we've got reason to believe that Dornan's manipulated his deals in order to secure all of your servitude." Doss gently patted Matthew's shoulder. "The lad here's father owed an astronomical sum to Lord Dornan before he died, investing in a company known simply as the Silver Griffon Traders. The company made poor profit, and ended up going under, causin' him to lose everything and the boy here tied to Lord Dornan for more likely than not the rest of his life." Matthew's face became stonier with each word from Doss' mouth, especially when she said, "We've reason to believe now that the Silver Griffon never existed, that Lord Dornan created the company, and many others, as a way to draw investments from all of you and your families, taking your money while running up your debts to him in the process."

The room was utterly silent, every eye trained on the half elf. Matthew said, quietly, "The problem is proving it, isn't it?"

"Aye, there is that." Doss flicked her pipe and took another long drag. "Legally, in the eyes of Luskan, you all deserve to be here. We'd have to prove the trading companies that Lord Dornan established never existed, and since he would have all the paperwork associated with them, well... " Doss shrugged. "I'm up for ideas. You've got our help on the outside, but most of the work will have to be done on the inside."

All eyes shifted towards Sand.

Sand pinched the bridge of his nose and remained silent for a long while before speaking up, "Well, I've helped defend heroes against false murder massacre charges, what's digging up some old paper work?"

He looked around for the nearest chair; found them all occupied and instead began pacing.

_Torio used to pace when she was deep in thought and planning..._

"It'll be in his study. I should be able to get in and out easy enough...Once I get the papers though, then what? Give it to Matthew and you all go free? He's not going to give you up without a fight and you know it. And it won't free me; if anything it will implicate me... I belong to Nivarra, a legally bought and paid for prisoner." He looked hard at Doss. "I'll help you. But it's going to put me in a precarious position, girl, one that could result in the death of me or worse - being sold off to that delightfully charming Mr. Blackfeather. You'll have to be willing to trust me and how I do things."

Doss eyed Sand shrewdly. "You'll not be alone, wizard; we're Blackstaff's own. Our help counts for more than nothing." She pulled a parchment from her belt and unrolled it, handing it to Sand. "I don't know how well you know the layout of Lord Dornan's manse, but here's a schematic of the entire estate, including the grounds and the upper and lower floors." She tapped her pipe against the side of her cheek, looking around at the others. "Dornan and his daughter will be attending a dinner party held in their honor by many high ranking mages in the Hosttower the night after tomorrow. The mage here will do what he can to attend the party; you are Lady Nivarra's personal servant, are you not?" Doss's eyes fixed on Sand meaningfully. "One of our agents will be there, disguised as a mage of small repute; you will have to retrieve the necessary documents before that time and pass them on to our agent."

Doss gestured to the servants around her. "Help each other. Find the house-servants that clean Lord Dornan's room every day and replace them, bribe them, kill them, whatever you have to. I would suggest the wizard here take the place of one of the servants, at the very least; I've no doubt there will be magical locks and traps in place over Dornan's personal things that will need dealing with." She glanced at Matthew. "And do not act too soon; you'll risk Lord Dornan discovering the documents missing before we have a chance to retrieve them from you, and if that happens your lives will be forfeit for certain."

One of the older men spoke up. "But won't the guards recognize us as not being the regular house servants that work in Lord Dornan's room?"

Sand pocketed the parchment, listening carefully to Doss. "And how will I know this agent? Have him...or her... ask me what I think of humans." He resumed his pacing, fiddling with his kiira gem for a moment. "Appearances will be the least of your problems. There are spells that can change your appearances on a semi-permanent basis. I will leave a potion on my desk tomorrow; slip it into the food or drink of Dornan's house-servants at supper. It will render them unconscious. Then tomorrow night, we'll polymorph people into Dornan's personal servants to have ease of access to his chambers. Magical locks and traps can be dealt with easily enough by a mage of my considerable talents if I know to be prepared. And I do."

The adrenaline was coursing through his blood. This was incredibly foolish and risky and would probably get him killed. But he had to try, especially if Dornan had procured his slaves by less than legal methods. He stopped his pacing in front of Doss. "Do you need Dornan's originals? Otherwise there's a spell that can copy out texts...it would buy us more time..."

Doss chewed on the end of her pipe slowly. "We do need the originals," she said thoughtfully. "Otherwise the magistrate will think we've simply created the documents ourselves. But if we leave the copies...I don't think Dornan would realize it right away. He might not at all; he doesn't seem the type to use his documented past transgressions as light reading before bedtime."

A woman towards the back of the crowd spoke up. "I work in the kitchens; if one of you can talk Liselle into sneaking the potion off the wizard's desk..."

"I've got her," said another man. "I'll tell her first thing in the morning, soon as I see her. We'll work it down to you in the kitchens, Kas."

A boy spoke up from the front. "I knows a place we can stow the reg'lar house servants once they fall asleep, sir Matthew. There's an ale pantry off to the side of the dining room that only the kitchen staff goes into; we can stick 'em in there."

"We'll have to tell the staff to stay away while we're at this, but it just might work." Matthew nodded, and looked over at Sand. "Anything else you can think of that we're missing, wizard? Otherwise I think we need to get everyone into their racks and the lights out, else the guards notice we're all still awake."

"I'll see what I can do as well about brewing Invisibility potions for you to use. Dornan keeps a rather tight leash on my components but I may be able to sneak one or two to you. As for communication...When it is time to steal the papers, I will cast a telepathy spell. It will link us together for a short duration."

It would mean of course, severing the telepathic bond he had with Torio. He knew it would be impossible to communicate with her across the planes but he had kept the spell intact out of reasons of...

_...loyalty, love, nostalgia..._

He looked up, "All right. Let's get to bed. I have spells to memorize and potions to make."

Doss pushed away from the table and moved towards the door. "Good luck, all of you," she said. Her eyes fell on Sand for a moment, and she nodded. "And thank you, wizard; I promise you, if we finally corner Dornan, you won't be forgotten, either." She twisted a ring on her finger and disappeared from sight, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Hands and arms reached out for Matthew once again, hugging him, touching his head; he was laughing lightly, pushing them away, his eyes pained as the wounds on his body smarted. "I'll be back in the morning," he said wearily. "And healed, this time. Go, all of you! Get the lights out."

The candles and lanterns puffed out as Matthew moved to the door, looking back at Sand. "Well, wizard, let's go get me back to my cell." He gripped Sand's shoulder hard for a moment, lowering his voice. " I can't tell you how much this means to all of us; to be here is one thing, but to know we're all here based off of wrongful charges...it's unbearable." He shook his head. "I'll never be able to thank you enough."

Sand gently extracted himself from the larger human's hands. "Yes well, don't thank me all at once. Really, you're embarrassing me." He cast another _Invisibility Sphere _spell on Matthew (which by now had replaced _Stoneskin_ as the handiest spell known to mages everywhere) and hung onto his sleeve. "Back to your cell. I'll lock you back up and then head back to my own prison."

Once the boy was back in the cell, Sand snapped the lock shut. He cast his final _Ethereal Jaunt _spell, watching the word fade around him once again. He peered into Friya's cell. The girl was sleeping, her face relaxed. He drifted upwards, through the walls and floors until he was back in his own chambers. Nivarra had shifted in her sleep but was still soundly slumbering. Sand moved into his room where he dispelled the spell.

The potion took no time at all; the clear liquid was still slightly hot as he poured it into a small, nondescript phial and left it casually on his desk. He yawned, stretching out on the mattress with his spellbook again, reading some new spells he would need for tomorrow. The Geas had remained quiet through all this; it seemed his rebellion against Dornan suited Nivarra's own intentions. For that, Sand was thankful that the daughter hated the father so very much.

He could be free very soon.


	23. Chapter 23

**Volume 3, Chapter 23 – Torio: Home  
**

The quiet pastoral scenery slipped by on either side of the boats as they moved through Amoria. The guardials were surprisingly muted, their hushed voices barely carrying from one boat to the other. The mood was grim but calm and resolved. Saeldur appeared lost in thought, his silver eyes musing and troubled as he stared at the countryside. He caught Torio's eyes a few time, giving her a small smile and a gentle but firm nod.

The sun rose higher in the sky; soon they passed the area where Prince Talisid had initially stopped and made camp. A musteval waved to them from shore, his whiskers twitching. He trotted over to Torio. "Lady Torio! Prince Talisid has moved his army further north where the avorals have spotted a growing mass of devils. I am to guide you, yes?"

Without further word, he hopped gracefully into the boat and motioned for them to continue. Towards mid-day, food and water was passed among the people and guardinals on the boat: breads, fruits and cheeses. Saeldur leaned forward, "Seems strange. It almost seems like we're going on a pleasure cruise down the River. But we're not, are we?" He laughed. "Don't worry, fearless leader, I'm not having second thoughts. Just...thoughts in general. But I think we all are."

Torio swallowed a mouthful of bread and glanced at him wryly...but her grey eyes were dark with worry. "It is strange. I was attributing it to Elysium's seemingly innate manner of making even the most arduous tasks seem peaceful and fulfilling." She frowned at the calm around them. "But you make me think twice about that assumption; if it bothers the others, as well, this might be more than it looks."

She half-stood, leaning towards the musteval that had joined them on the boat. "Did you see anything on your way to our position? Anything strange, odd at all? How many devils is Prince Talisid facing, do you know?"

Musteval nibbled on a piece of cheese, looking very much like a rodent. He wrinkled his nose at Torio. "We're outnumbered that much is for certain. 2 to 1? 3 to 1? It seems as though most of the minor land army snuck into Amoria disguised as merchants and they had managed to teleport in some of their generals and their Lord before the ursinals were able to scry the portals and seal them." The small creature polished off the rest of the cheese and took a long drink of water. "But their numbers are now fixed; they won't be able to summon other creatures in, which is where their power used to lie. And unlike us, they won't fight to the death. They're cowardly. We just have to scare them enough and they'll leave."

Torio leaned back thoughtfully...she half turned, and said in a low voice to Saeldur, "Good news, at least...although I wonder how they'll manage to get the hostages back if the portals are closed." She glanced over as the musteval indicated which direction the boats were to take in an upcoming fork in the river, and cautiously slipped her hand into the elf's. "I'm glad you're here," she said quietly after a moment, keeping her eyes on the river ahead of them. Her mouth twitched in a smirk as her eyes darted to him. "I don't feel quite as small compared to the guardinals, now."

There was a twinge in her mind, underneath her thoughts, as she tried to remember..._something_. Saeldur's eyes gleamed at her, clear and bright and blue..._no_...She blinked. His eyes were silver, like they always had been. She felt a flicker of confusion for half a heartbeat; the yawning, blank tugging that had plagued her since she'd awoken was persisting, even though her heart was lighter than it had been in days...or was it longer?

How long had she _been _here, precisely?

Her eyes had become slightly unfocused for a moment, and then she shook herself. _There was a war to fight; plenty of time to sort through these troubling thoughts once we're all safely unthreatened by devils._

Saeldur gripped Torio's hand reassuringly. "You get used to the size of the guardinals after a while...though being constantly surrounded by them can be a little disconcerting I guess. I'm sure Prince Talisid and the ursinals have a plan for the hostages and their rescuers." He leaned back slightly, pulling her back against him. "And did you hear that? We just have to scare them enough that they'll leave. Maybe they'll take one look at us and decide we aren't worth the trouble."

Torio snorted lightly. "One can hope." She leaned her head back against his shoulder, her eyes half-shutting. "I'll have to practice looking terrifying I suppose...start by growing a few inches and some claws, perhaps?" It was slightly awkward leaning back in leather armor that was still adjusting to her body's natural creasing points, but she let herself relax for a moment, exhaling languidly. "You could sharpen a few quills...attack them on paper, mayhaps? Describe them in humiliating detail in your historical account unless they leave?"

Saeldur chuckled. "Do not underestimate the fear of people of being remembered poorly. Or of not being remembered at all." He sighed into her hair, his eyes scanning the scenery, the trees and fields passing them by. Ahead of them there was a bend in the River and...

Saeldur sat up in alarm, nudging Torio. "Smoke!" The guardinals in the boats were all rousing, pointing. As they approached the gray columns of smoke, a small village that was hugging the banks of the River came into view. It was a simple village, with simple wooden houses - but each house was either ablaze or a charred smoking ruin.

Saeldur subconsciously pulled Torio closer to him. "Where are the people?" A leonal from the second boat called out, "We should stop..." But already guardinals were jumping out of the boats and making their way cautiously to the scene of destruction before them. Their own boat was stopping against the sandy shores. Saeldur stood as well, "Come, Torio - we should go check for survivors..." His gray eyes met hers. "I don't think there will be any."

Torio rose to her feet and leapt from the boat, loping off in a jog after the guardinals that plunged towards the small village. The smoke was acrid and thick with a heavy, sickly sweet smell that made bile rise at the back of her throat.

She stumbled as she cleared the threshold of the village, the heat searing from the flames licking lazily at the buildings around her and the guardinals. Glancing down, she extracted her boot from underneath the crooked, splintered arm of an elf that lay half-sprawled from the open doorway of the building she was passing. His face was unrecognizable under the layers of soot and blood and a disfiguring blow underneath his left eye...

...she could tell he was elven by his ears.

_Oh gods..._

She watched woodenly as the guardinals kicked through burning rubble, calling out for survivors. A small circle of them formed around the outskirts of the village, forming a slapdash security ring while the rest poured from boats and picked through the bodies. Her hand had automatically strayed to the kris at her belt as she began walking through the carnage, avoiding the lifeless gazes that tried to catch her eyes

A quarter of an hour later, Saeldur approached Torio, holding his sleeve up to his nose to keep the smell away. "Torio?" She had a flat expression on her delicate face. He lowered his voice, "There are no survivors. The...the guardinals are gathering the bodies now for a funeral pyre and a proper ceremony." He took her hand in his and sighed heavily, "I just don't understand it. How does someone slaughter an entire defenseless village? They were unarmed, all of them." The elf kicked at the dirt angrily, his silver eyes flashing. "They didn't stand a chance."

His words sank like stones in her stomach. Torio avoided Saeldur's gaze, just as her eyes turned from those of the dead scattered around them. "Evil delights in destruction," she said quietly. "Sometimes it justifies itself with many different, logical reasons, but the end result is the same." Dead bodies, dead towns...dead allies, dead masters, dead lovers...

_Gods oh gods..._

She seemed to blink, and finally glanced at Saeldur, her eyes empty. "The Devils probably didn't waste their time with such things; they destroyed these people because they could. Maybe it's a warning...maybe a message, a distraction, a diversion." She sighed. "Maybe they simply did it because they were bored." His hand felt light in hers, and she squeezed it. "Come...we should see if the guardinals need our help."

They walked silently to where the bodies had been carefully and lovingly arranged in the pyre. There was no time to wrap each body in a sheet - just enough time to gather some dry wooden sticks, some long blades of grass, the barks of trees for kindling. Somebody had placed a small bouquet of wildflowers on top of the pyre, a splash of purple, orange and yellow among the gray, black and red.

The guardinals gathered in a circle around the pyre, silent and solemn. No priest of Pelor was present so instead, each creature seemed to simultaneously bow their heads down in a sign of respect and grief. A lupinal approached with a flaming torch and set the fire; soon the flames were greedily licking at the wood and the clothed corpses...

_...a mother clutching her child..._

_...an elderly man, his white hair caked in blood..._

_...a thin half-elven girl..._

The yellow-orange flames grew higher in the sky, the heat from the blaze forcing the circle to take a few steps back. They remained, vigilant and stoic, until the pile was reduced to black ashes and began scattering in the winds.

Torio watched the bodies..._the people_...melt away and disappear, scattering in the breeze. The jumbled tangle of her memories straightened for a moment, and she remembered watching a large, bald man, tattoos across his face, a large curved blade scything through bodies as if they were merely ears of corn...life's blood spilling over the ground in rivers, torrents, and she merely stood in a tower, at her masters side, her cold hands clasped behind her and watching the misty portal her master had summoned, so that they both may watch...

_Ember._

Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, chin tucked down, a washing ache spreading through her. She had done nothing to stop it, then; and now, she had done her best to help these people, and it had still happened anyway.

"We should go," she said; her voice was quiet, but it carried across the small gathering easily, it was so silent. "We need to keep moving towards Talisid."

Silently but quickly the guardinals made their way back to the boats. With a quiet splash, the wooden vessels were pushed away from shore and across the waters once again. Saeldur placed a gentle hand on Torio's arm. "Are you... are you all right?" His gaze was troubled and he admitted, "I'm sorry. I keep thinking...if I had lived there instead of Gwillikens - that could have been me..."

Torio rubbed her forehead for a moment, and then she glanced at him, and took his hand, pulling him closer to her and planting a kiss on his cheek, briefly. "It might have been you. But it wasn't." She could still smell smoke on the breeze, see the trail of ashes and dust slithering up from the smoldering fire. "And as for me, I'm fine." A speck of ash caught on the fur of the cervidal in front of her, fluttering slightly. Her mouth twisted. "A few things hitting too close to home, I suppose."

Her mind jolted again..._Home._

Saeldur pulled her close, practically in his lap, as they continued down the River. He remained silent, still lost in thought, his fingers idly stroking the back of Torio's hand, seeking some measure of comfort. As the day drew on, they passed additional small villages - all being cleaned up by the villagers in the aftermath of an attack but none as utterly destroyed as the first. Everytime they passed by, survivors would run up to their ragtag fleet, asking for supplies, or food, or healing until it was nearly sundown by the time they could see Prince Talisid's banner in the distance, their food supplies dwindled down to nearly nothing. The guardinals all looked drained and exhausted, their normally optimistic and cheerful countenance tight and sorrowful.

Saeldur had fallen asleep towards the end of the trip, leaning heavily against both Torio and a large furry lupinal when their boats finally bumped against shore.

Torio was drowsy herself as the boat came to a stop and she lifted her head from Saeldur's shoulder to gaze at their surroundings; she caught a glimpse of Talisid's banner, and turned her head, brushing the elf's ear lightly with the tip of her nose as she whispered, "Wake up...we're here." She gently disentangled herself from Saeldur's lap and stood, her joints protesting, disgruntled, at being made move after hours of sitting on the boat. The guardinals were already mooring the boats to the ground and unpacking what remained of their supplies when she staggered up onto the bank and took in the disheartened, slump-shouldered creatures around her.

"Heads up, gentlemen and ladies," she said, her voice carrying over the bank as they moved about in their disembarkation. "We've still got devils to stop, else the rest of Elysium will look like what we've all passed on the way here."

Saeldur sat up, stretching his back and shoulders. "Oh thank Pelor we're here." He followed her towards the encampment where a tawny leonal waved them forward.

"We've been expecting you, hours ago. Much delayed? Problems with devils?" They began walking to the centre tent carrying the Prince's royal banner, made of golden and red fabrics which shone in the setting sun. He pointed towards a hill a medium distance from the encampment. "There is a valley that lies below that hill; beyond that is another small hill where the infernal armies have set up their own camp. Can you smell it?"

Saeldur sniffed, "Yes...it smells like...burning." He frowned. "They're...so close. Why haven't they attacked?"

The leonal looked down at the elf. "They want to negotiate, parley first. We're waiting for them to send over an emissary. They're devils. They'll probably wait until midnight when their dark powers are strongest before attempting anything. But that gives you time to meet with the War Council and discuss things." He held the tent flap open for the both of them.

Torio obligingly ducked underneath the arm holding open the flap, and was instantly lost in a mass of bodies and washed in bright lamplight. She could feel Saeldur moving behind her as she gently threaded her way between the furred and hooved and horned and winged figures, finally finding a spot towards the front where the scarcity of bodies allowed her to see and be seen.

Chaksa looked up when she felt a disturbance moving through the room; Torio was making her way to the front, a slim, dark haired elf following her. The lupinal quickly slipped through the crowds. "Torio. You're safe. Dahras... where is he? Is he all right?" But before Torio could answer, Prince Talisid was already moving to the front of the tent, his very presence commanding an authoritative silence.

"It has been a difficult few days. Our numbers have dropped but by the gods' graces, not as much as our enemies had hoped, I am certain. We are outnumbered. Avoral and musteval scout reports have estimated that we are outnumbered 3 to 1. The devils will offer to strike a bargain with us - it is in their nature to do so but no contract with them will ever be fair or in our favor." The Prince stepped back graciously, opening the floor for discussion, his bright golden eyes scanning the faces gathered in the tent, letting them fall briefly on Torio before blinking slowly.

Lord Hwyn stepped forward. "No deal with them. We attack them, attack them hard and drive them back. Or if the Outsider human still thinks it capable, we follow through with her plan of splitting up the main forces. The equinals are a proud people; never will we consort with those of the Lower Planes."

Duchess Callisto spoke up from her seated position, a stack of books in front of her. "But according to our codes of honor, we must hear out any of their emissary. And I recommend that we do, if only to gather information about them and their intentions."

The leonal prince nodded. "And we will speak to them. If only to buy us time. Not all of our armies have reached us yet. I am more concerned with tactics, of fighting in a large valley. The trees and bushes will provide some measure of cover for ambushes. And I am not adverse to trying to strike directly at their encampment, using stealth and less...direct means. We must defend Amoria at all costs."

Duke Lucan stood, his dark fur ruffling overtop sinuous muscle. "The lupinals, and I am certain the mustevals, take no issue with infiltrating the devilish encampment. We can also go, during parley and set up ambush points in the valley prior to battle so that once the main forces meet, the ancillary units can attack from the sides."

Saeldur had shrugged off his pack and was scribbling notes furiously beside Torio. "As frightened as I am, this is rather exciting," he whispered. "It sounds like they like your plan, Outsider human."

Torio reached out to give Chaksa's furred arm a reassuring squeeze as the guardinals around them spoke. When Saeldur's voice caught her ear, she shot him a wry glance before stepping forward slightly, hands on her hips as she spoke; an old habit, back from when her words came from a perfumed, begowned woman in heeled slippers. _Back from when her words were always twisted. _

Her mind gave a slight, discordant hiccup as her memories seemed to clear for a moment, but she steadied herself as she began to speak. "Under the circumstances, I can only strengthen my original viewpoint; especially since we now know for certain that we're outnumbered, a full frontal assault would be devastating. It's quite possible we'd still win in such an attack, but the losses..." She shook her head, feeling short strands of hair brush her cheeks as she did so. "I still strongly suggest using ambush tactics; although having a main force at the core, for the devils to initially concentrate on, might not be a terrible idea, and it might keep them from realizing what tactics we're using at first. They're not unintelligent creatures, after all."

She looked over at the equinal's fierce form. "Might I suggest that Lord Hwyn might commit his forces to the main attack? If he's willing, of course...your equinals' stamina would work work well with taking the brunt of the attack."_ And it would keep them from doing anything foolish with the smaller ambush units._ Her gaze roved around the tent. "I would also prefer to split the ursinals up with the ambush units." Her eyes found Callisto. "They would not be afforded the protection they would receive in the main unit, Duchess, that much is true; but it would allow the equinals and whomever else Prince Talisid chooses as the main force to focus more on fighting and less on protecting the spellcasters, and your ursinals wouldn't be facing the heavy attacks the main force would be under." Her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile of amusement. "And, I imagine, your ursinals are not utterly helpless when it comes to melee fighting; they would be a tremendous asset to the smaller units."

Torio bent in a slight half bow to Duke Lucan. "And I am fully behind striking at their army with stealth as well as with force. The lupinals and mustevals together would make excellent small unit fighters; and if there was some way that we could compromise their base camp, even, without them knowing it, then that combined with the surprise tactics we're using might be all that we need to encourage them to flee."

Duchess Callisto gave Torio an appraising look and then a warm smile. "You have experience fighting with mages and sorcerers? But of the humanoid variety. Ursinal spellcasters are not like humans, child, but I will send my troops with the lupinals."

A musteval began squeaking rapidly in Celestial, her paw waving about, practically jumping up and down on the spot. Prince Talisid translated, "She is offering to lead a group into the encampment and sabotage their weapons."

Lord Hwyn stamped his hoofed foot and snorted, his red nostrils flaring. "The equinals would be honored to fight in the main army. Who will join us?" There was a deep, resonating chuckle from the back of the room and the cervidal lord gave a courteous half-bow to the equinal lord. "Of course the cervidals will fight side by side with the equinals, friend. Has there ever been a war where we have not stood, shoulder to shoulder with our brothers?" Lord Rhanok's eyes flicked to Torio. "Little human, we place great trust in you."

Duke Windheir stepped forward at this point. "That we do, Torio. What of the avorals? We are mobile. Where would you like us?"

Torio felt her cheeks flush slightly at Callisto's comment, wryly realizing she was used to spellcasters as delicate as paper; although Ammon Jerro was something of an exception. _And Sand tended to throw himself at Hellcats even with his penchant for hiding behind his armored companions..._

_Sand..._

Her eyes flickered slightly as her mind jolted in memory, but she breathed in deeply, trying to focus her thoughts. "The avorals...I would suggest you use the same patterns of attack as the lupinals and mustevals. Keeping you in the air as a constant barrage would be risky; I'm not sure how vulnerable your avorals are to fire, milord..." her grey eyes darted over the feathers adorning his arms and shoulders... "But I think small groups making organized, quick strikes, and then pulling back to safety to strike again would ensure your guardinals suffer the fewest losses. And it would cause more confusion amongst the fiends...all the better for us. Multi-directional attacks from the ground and the air." She tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "And a squad of lupinal archers?" She arched a brow at Duke Lucan. "Would you be able to spare a line of archer, milord?"

The Duke gave Torio a feral grin, "We can spare whatever the lady wishes."

Prince Talisid nodded slowly. "We have already sent in the recovery team for the hostages. We have to at least buy them enough time to get in, find the hostages and get out. And I think we can do that; but they won't be able to leave until we unseal the portals leading into Elysium and we can only unseal the portals when the tide of battle has turned in our favor." The majestic leonal began pacing around the tent, his face serene yet deep in thought. "If we are satisfied with this plan, then I suggest we prepare and rest until they send their emissary."

Guardinals shifted around her and began filing out of the tent, or turning to talk to those standing close to them. Torio turned toward Chaksa, and surprised herself by quickly embracing the lupinal. Embarrassed, she stepped back, and said quietly, "Dahras is at Gwillikins; he's safe, and rather exuberant. We drove off the attack there with more ease than we thought possible." She glanced around her; Saeldur was still standing off behind her, and she asked, "Is there a good place we can settle down and get some rest? We've been on the river since this morning..." She rubbed her face wearily. "And with the attack on top of that, we're exhausted."

Chaksa sighed in relief, her eyes closing momentarily. "Thanks be to all the gods, they have heeded a mother's prayers." She looked kindly down at Torio. "As selfish as this may be, I am glad you somehow convinced him to stay in Gwillikens. It will be safe for him there. You and...your friend - I apologize we were not properly introduced..."

Saeldur looked up from his writing, his silver eyes blinking. "My name is Saeldur, matron. I am the librarian and historian from Gwillikens. It's not often a historian can be present when history is being made."

The lupinal nodded vaguely, "Well met then. I am Chaksa." She led them out of the large tent and towards a grouping of tents in the middle, Duke Lucan's banner snapping in the breeze. "All these tents are for our use. Feel free to help yourself to any of them. Saeldur, you are most welcome to stay with us as well if you are currently not under the protection of any other banner; otherwise I am certain the Prince's court will have a place for you to rest. If you need healing, there are many priest of Pelor here." Chaksa smiled tiredly at the pair.

Torio chuckled lightly. "Many priests, is it? There's a comforting thought." She sighed, and picked the closest tent, glancing at Saeldur and suddenly feeling nervous for no reason she could think of; the memory of his mouth on hers flashed through her head, and her fingers tightened on the tent flap as she turned back towards Chaksa momentarily. "Is there a priest here by the name of Ghero, by any chance?"

Chaksa shrugged, and despite her exhaustion her eyes were twinkling. "Torio, there are over 300 people here currently. I can't keep track of a single priest. But I am certain if you ask one of their clerics, they will be able to tell you. Their community is close knit, like our tribes." She reached out and squeezed the human affectionate on the arm. "I am glad you are here. I wish we could have met, though, under better circumstances." And with that, she turned and disappeared into the crowds.

Saeldur watched the lupinal move off before turning back to Torio. "Anything you want? Some wine perhaps? I can go see what I can find for you. I can go look for this Ghero fellow if you wish? Anything I can do to make our strategist comfortable."

Torio watched Chaksa walk away; she was somehow hoping to at least catch sight of the priest that had, in all essence, saved her life.

But there were more important things to worry about, and if Ghero were here he would most likely be concerned with tending wounded. _More important things to worry about yourself, Torio._

She blinked at Saeldur and then laughed. "Are you the historian or the Maitre'D?" She impulsively hugged him, briefly. "Wine would be heavenly, but it'd be monstrous trying to find some in the supplies..." she glanced up at him wryly, "And from what I remember, you were snoring on that boat. You've got to be exhausted."

Saeldur caught her in his arms before she could pull back too far and hugged her back, his smile quick and genuine. "I was _not _snoring. Elves don't snore." He dropped his arms back down to his side. "I was rather tired but now the adrenaline has me wide awake. Mind you, it'll probably wear off in about an hour and I'll fall asleep on my feet. Look - if I find some wine, I'll come to your tent. If I even find some whiskey or any form of alcohol, I'll stop by." He laughed. "Goodness, this war is turning me into a regular drunkard."

Torio snorted, turning and opening her tent flap. "It's certainly one way to go, master historian; there's no library rules here to stop you, is there?" She flashed a smile at him over her shoulder before disappear into the tent.

Her pack fell first; bits and pieces of armor were unbuckled and dropped in a trail to the bed, where she fell forward without fanfare, sprawling over the creaking, fur-covered cot. There was a trunk at the other end of the tent, and a small table with chairs; matting covered the floor, but the tent was otherwise completely empty, devoid of decoration. _Makes sense for a war camp...hard to set up and tear down suits of armor and..._ Torio yawned..._tapestries..._

A few moments later she was dozing lightly.


	24. Chapter 24

**Volume 3, Chapter 24 – Sand: Four Lifetimes**

In the morning, a silent shape slipped into Sand's room just as the sun peaked over the horizon and slipped the phial into her apron pocket. The girl knelt at Sand's sleeping side, touching his shoulder lightly and whispering, "Matthew and Friya have been released from the cells," before slipping out the door, swift and silent.

Nivarra's voice shattered through the morning stillness. "Slave!!" She had awoken from the hardest sleep she had had in a long time, and she felt amazingly refreshed and exuberant. She sat at her vanity, her maidservant doing her hair; as Sand entered, she watched him carefully in the mirror. "I have appointments today," she said sharply. "My father and I have been invited to dine with the Hosttower, and I need time to prepare a few things; I will leave you to your studying. I expect a report on the progress you've made when I return later this evening." She stood, admiring the graceful sweep of hair the maid had created against her taut, pale face. "Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone?" She arched a brow in his direction and left, her chin tilted haughtily as her heels echoed along the hall.

Sand pulled the vanity away from the wall, opening the door to the hidden room and gathering up all her notes again before moving to his desk in his chambers. He leafed through the stacks of paper, his mind going over all that had transpired in the past 24 hours.

_Slaves' revolt._

_Nightbringer's rituals._

_Birren's reports._

And him right in the middle. With a shock he realized he hadn't thought of Torio very much at all lately and felt a bit of a guilty pang. But, he reminded himself, she was likely traveling the planes now. Safe and meeting wonderful people. She had probably forgotten all about him and in a strange way, he was glad for that. Better she could move on with her life than to miss him eternally.

He bent his head back over the notes, working steadfast if only to push her out of his mind.

As the sun began to set, there came a light tapping on Sand's door. A young man from the night before stood there with a steaming hot tray of food. The guard let him in, muttering, "Be quick about it," and shut the door behind the servant.

The man set the tray down. "I'm Flipp," he whispered quietly. "Lord Dornan's personal servants are all out cold; Matthew and Dulcinea are getting them into the pantry downstairs as we speak." He glanced nervously at the door behind him, the guard just waiting on the other side. "Can you...you know, make yourself go invisible, or something? Slip out of here, quiet like, and follow me?"

Sand looked up at the youth. "Yes. Give me a moment." He quickly stuffed the notes about Shar under his mattress, and then cast _Alarm_ in his doorway. It would buy him sometime when Nivarra approached to try to make it back to his room; he could always say he was in the bathing room. He followed up that spell with an _Invisibility_ spell and tugged on the young man's sleeve. "Ready."

Flipp led Sand from the room, quickly shuffling, eyes downcast, past the guard. They moved down the hallway, and then Flipp turned, slipping down a narrow back staircase close to the kitchens. They spilled out into a small, simply decorated but clean dining room, with a sturdy wooden table in the center and a smattering of chairs positioned around it. Hot food was laid out in trays, most of it looking to be half-eaten; the wine glasses were in various states of emptiness, and one of the chairs was toppled over.

The room was cool, the candles flickering from a damp breeze trailing up from the hall opposite Sand and Flipp; the dining room was obviously on the same level of the estate as the dungeons. As Flipp stepped forward into the room, the door next to the staircase opened, and a slender, dark-haired woman appeared, holding it open as Matthew grunted and heaved, repositioning an obviously unconscious older man into what looked like a small wine closet. They both looked up as Flipp appeared. "Where is he?" the woman asked, her voice edged with anxiety and bordering on panic.

Sand spoke up, "I'm here. But I'm going to stay invisible for now. Let me see their faces..." He bent over and studied the older man's face for a moment before peeking inside the wine closet and having a look at an unconscious woman in there. He turned to Matthew. "Ready to be him?"

He cast the _Polymorph_ spell and watched as the young man suddenly shifted and reappeared as the slumped servant, following it up with a _Permanency_ spell. He repeated it for the girl nearby, studying them critically for a moment before saying, "It'll have to do. No one should be looking at the servants too closely anyway."

"All right, friend, I'm going to telepathically link your mind to mine." He paused, then added jokingly, "Try not to be too much in awe of its vastness." With a flick of his wrist, he dispelled the bond with Torio, feeling the very faint humming in the back of his head disappear. His last connection to the girl, gone. Sand closed his eyes for the briefest of a second, mentally saying goodbye to the last traces of her on this Plane.

Casting _Rary's Telepathic Bond _again, his skin crawled at the strange feeling of his consciousness floating somewhere above him before it was replaced by a loud, buzzing of Matthew's thoughts. "Try to keep your thoughts under control otherwise you'll drown us both out. Let's go. Quickly!"

Matthew's face twisted in bemusement for a moment before he quieted the clamor of his anxious, frightened thoughts. _Follow me._

"Keep watch, Flipp," he whispered to the fourth servant; the young man nodded, and positioned himself in front of the closed wine pantry. Matthew led them back up the stairs, walking coolly, his steps confident, his thoughts fluttering with smothered nervousness. He led them past Nivarra's rooms, Dornan's study, the doors to the expansive "questioning" room, to another flight of stairs, that were guarded at their foot by a pair of rather muscular looking guards. They ignored the two servants as they walked past and slipped up the stairs. These were carpeted with a thick, lush red fabric, and at the top of the stairs stood an ornately carved door; two cameos, one of a man that looked suspiciously like Dornan in profile, and another, an unidentifiable woman, both faced each other on opposite doors, their hands held passively at their waists. Matthew pushed the doors open, peeking inside, before nodding and gesturing them forward.

"Dulcinea, watch the door," he whispered, and stood aside, giving enough time for Sand to slip into the room before the woman moved back into place, pressing her ear against the closed door behind them.

Dornan's room was opulent, to say the least. The bed was enormous, rich tapestries backing the wall behind the headboard, depicting an ornate hunting scene from floor to ceiling. Multiple desks and ornate knee-tables were scattered about the room, papers, books, strange artifacts, valuable decorative objects, weapons, suits of armor, wardrobes, scattered robes and garments tossed over the backs of chairs. Matthew thought to Sand, his thoughts still slightly scattered, _I have no inkling to where he would keep documents on trade agreements, especially illegal ones; most likely locked up?_ Matthew began visually scanning papers and documents, not touching anything with his hands, remembering the warnings about traps.

Sand thought back to the boy, _Stay there. I'm going to cast some spells and I'll let you know what I find..._

He pulled out a silk glove from one of his pouches, and began quietly incanting the spell while weaving his fingers over top the silken material. Suddenly a green shimmering light swept out in front of him as he finished the _Spontaneous Search _spell. He relaxed and let his connection to the spell crawl over every single nook and cranny of the room, seeping into chests, drawers and containers.

Information came to him, flickering through his mind as he sorted through what was valuable and what was not. A few containers were revealed to hold nothing more than gold coins and precious jewels; the bureau was full of parchment, bound sheaves of paper, more gold, and a few bottles of what look to be potions. There were two secret compartments in the walls; one was behind the desk, large and full of what looked like different sized objects, and another was behind the tapestry behind the headboard of the bed, smaller, and stuffed full of smaller scraps of parchment. All of these containers were locked; the two secret compartments were trapped with moderately high spike traps; the small compartment behind the bed also had a second poison trap that seemed attached to the locking mechanism.

_Two hidden compartments in the wall, friend. The one behind the tapestry has parchment in it. But it's been trapped twice, at least trapped with normal traps. A moment..._

He quietly muttered the words for _Arcane Sight_. He knew if he were visible, the spell would be causing his eyes to glow an unnatural blue color. He scanned the room, looking for traces of magic.

There was a very subtle glyph marked into the floor under the carpet that glowed slightly, revealing its presence under Sand's spell. It appeared to be a fairly sophisticated _Alarm_ spell, tied in to every single container in the room, as well as the window. There was a stun spell attached to the door, as well, that seems to be designed to go off as soon as the glyph in the floor was activated.

Sand shook his head lightly and then realized that Matthew couldn't see him.

_What ever Dornan has hidden in here, he's gone to great lengths to keep secure. Which is all the more reason for us to try to get a hold of it. Do not move; I have to suppress a particularly nasty ward. _

He quietly thanked Torio for all the practice he got with the _Reaving Dispel _spell. He recited the familiar words, his hands moving quickly; he felt the spell take hold of the glyph and he lifted the arcane writing to the ceiling where it would stay until he removed the spell.

Sand took a cautious step forward, holding his breath and waited.

There was a strange, strained buzzing for a moment, and then the room seemed to sigh, and settle. Nothing happened.

Matthew's eyes were larger than saucers. _Did it work?_ He was standing stock still, not even twitching a finger, a few beads of nervous sweat appearing on his forehead.

Sand could feel the sweat on his forehead and he exhaled forcefully. _Yes, yes it did. But I still can't disarm the trap; please tell me you can - I really don't want to trigger it. I can unlock it though. _The _Knock_ spell was cast on the container behind the tapestry. Sand heard the reassuring click.

Matthew swallowed hard. _I'll give it a shot; I've never worked with anything complicated before..._ He slipped around the back of the headboard, and pushed the tapestry aside. There was a slight indentation in the wall that marked where the secret compartment was; Matthew, examined the spot for a long time, before reaching forward and beginning to fiddle with the latch barely seen against the stones, his breathing ragged...

Right as a triumphant _snick!_ announced the disarming of the spike trap, the poison trap was set off, a low, hissing noise accompanying the release of a thick, acrid gas. Matthew coughed violently, jerking back from the trap..._Shite and hells...I'm sorry, wizard..._ He coughed again, hacking violently, and the gas quickly dispersed. _It's open,_ he though, his mind flitting haphazardly as the poison began seeping through his body. _Let's do this and get out of here, quickly._

Sand quickly lay out some blank parchment and a thin vial of ink on the floor_. Find me the parchment while I cast the spell_. Sand began reciting the _Amanuensis_ spell, a spell which would copy out all text that he commanded it to. Matthew began dropping pieces of parchment on the floor and Sand quickly had the spell copy out the words, watching the blank piece of parchments slowly write itself with blank ink. He silently prayed for the spell to work faster.

_How are you doing? Just try to hold up for another minute then I'll get us to Alysin..._

_Fine._ Matthew could feel the burning, painful sensation spreading slowly through his body; his chest felt as if it were on fire...but he _had_ them, right here in his hands. He caught glimpses of the names of multiple "merchant" companies, some that he recognized from his father's own financial documents as he passed the slips of parchment down to the elf on the floor.

_That's the last one._ He rested his hand on the wall, watching the spells working slowly over the parchment. Dulcinea's head shot back at them, her face twisted with worry. She opened her mouth to speak, but Matthew shot her a warning look, and she turned back around, her shoulders slumping as she continued pressing her face against the door.

_Tell the girl to come here. I'm going to cast a spell that'll get us to safety..._

He could feel the poison in the back of his mind, drifting into Matthew's thoughts. Sand began hurriedly stuffing the dried forged documents into the safe while he waited for the last ones to finish being scribed. It seemed to take forever and Sand could barely stop shifting from foot to foot. His heart was hammering in his chest; every noise, every creak made him jump up or freeze on the spot. It was amazing; the shuffling of the parchment sounded as loud as explosions to him at the moment. Even the sound of Matthew breathing seemed inordinately obvious - Sand was amazed they didn't have the entire guardhouse down around their ears at the moment. When the last of the parchment was finally done, he pocketed all the original papers and snapped the safe shut, letting the tapestry fall back down. There was no way he could reset the poison trap but they had done their best. His blue eyes quickly scanned the scene around him. Everything was back to normal; the ward would settle back in place once the _Reaving Dispel _spell wore off.

Reaching out, he took a firm grasp of both Matthew and Dulcinea's hands and cast _Etherealness_. Immediately, the trio became invisible, wispy ghostlike figures and Sand yanked them down through the floors, towards Alysin.

As soon as they touched the floor in Alysin's room, Sand dispelled his enchantments from the two humans, and Matthew stumbled forward, coughing painfully, while Dulcinea appeared alongside him. His skin had taken on a sick, greenish cast, and Alysin stared at them in surprise only briefly before rising from the tiny altar set against the wall in her room, and rushing over to them, her long white hair unbound for the night and hanging loosely down her back. "What in...Matthew! Matthew, boy, look at me. What happened?"

"Poisoned," said Dulcinea quietly. "Can you remove it?"

Alysin pulled Matthew's heavily shutting eyelids open, peering at his dialated pupils and bloodshot eyes. "I can try," she said quietly. "Please, be silent for a moment." She placed her hands on either side of Matthew's head and began to pray, her eyes shut intensely as she concentrated.

The room was suffused with a soft, white glow; it pierced through the cracks between her fingers, bathing over Matthew like a second skin, and the sweat could be seen beading along Alysin's skin; she finished her prayer, and the light blinked out instantly; Matthew was breathing hard, but strong, steady, and he reached out, catching Alysin as she fell forward.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "So tired...they were so hard on the servants, today, I was healing for nearly an hour...the bed, please?"

Matthew inhaled deeply, glancing over his shoulder to where Dulcinea stood next to the still invisible Sand, and lifted the aged cleric onto the small, spare bed.

She smiled up at him. "I don't want to know what you're getting yourself into," she said quietly. "But you be careful; I've been patching you up too often lately for my liking."

Matthew bent and kissed Alysin's fingers before releasing them, backing towards the door. "We're good," he whispered to Sand, his face flushed with renewed health and vigor. "I've got to go get Flipp and get back to our quarters...good luck, wizard."

Taking Dulcinea's hand, he opened Alysin's door quietly and disappeared down the hallway.

Without another word, Sand flew up through the walls, down hallways until he popped into his small chambers again. The _Alarm _spell hadn't gone off, meaning Nivarra hadn't returned yet. He dispelled the _Etherealness_ spell, sagging heavily onto his mattress. He couldn't have been gone for more than half an hour and yet it felt like four lifetimes. Which, he thought ruefully, was impressive considering he was an elf.

He pulled the books and parchments about Shar from under his mattress and began reading them again, his mind chasing his thoughts around in circles until he fell asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

**Volume 3, Chapter 25 – Torio: Defiance**

Saeldur entered her tent a small while later, with a flask of rum he had somehow finagled from a leonal. She was sleeping on her stomach, her face mashed up unceremoniously against the furs. He snorted lightly as he sidestepped all her pieces of armor which lay scattered from the tent flap to her bed and pulled a blanket up to her shoulders. He brushed a strand of hair back and kissed her cheek lightly before leaving the flask of rum on the table and making his way back to the tent flap.

Fingers brushed her forehead; there was the faint, warm pressure of lips against her cheek, and she sighed for a moment...her hands twitched against furred blankets, reaching out..._but there was no one next to her._

Her eyes slit open; the lamps hitched on the tent pole had burned down slightly, and she could make out a dim figure by the door.

_Sand...?_ Her heart thumped once, heavily, and she almost said his name aloud when she caught the bluish glint of light on hair much too long to belong to a beloved sarcastic wizard...and she remembered where she was.

"Saeldur." The "s" that had been halfway out of her mouth turned into his name, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Come back."

Saeldur turned back and silently made his way to her side. "Torio. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I brought rum." He pointed to the flask on the table. "You have no idea what I had to do to get it. I had to promise a leonal I'd write a passage about him in my books. See? I'm altering the course of history for you again." He knelt by the low bed. "A little more rested? Less than an hour has passed. Still another two or three hours until midnight."

Torio stretched slightly, chuckling. "You bargained with a leonal and altered history for a flask of rum?" She leaned forward, squinting in the dim light to where the flask glinted cheerfully on the table, a bright object in the relative emptiness of her tent. "I'm truly starting to look forward to reading this excerpt of yours. If you keep this up, the entire account will consist of elaborate blandishments of certain alcohol-providing figures, and only a few sentences describing the actual battle." She smiled at him, her sleep-muddled mind still half-drowsy and pleasantly warm. Her fingers reached up, tracing along the edge of his jaw momentarily. "You didn't disturb me," she said quietly.

Saeldur leaned forward, draping his arms across the furred mattress of the bed. "Well, if you won't tell, I certainly won't tell and we'll be able to spend the rest of the war in a pleasantly drunk state." He shifted his weight so that his shadow fell across her face. Her cheek had reddish indent marks from the fur and he nearly laughed out loud at the vision before him. Torio - groggy, with a flask of rum and a sleepy face - and Torio - the strategist who saved Gwillikens and was now supposed to save Elysium...

He bent down and kissed her, pressing his lips full on against hers, his hands reaching up and running through her short brown hair, pulling her face to his.

Torio made a soft noise at the back of her throat; fingers pulled gently along her hair, pressing her face forward. A warm, soft mouth opened over hers, and she gently pushed her tongue forward, rolling it against his. There was no slight tang of magic that clung to her nostrils, and then she wondered why she expected such a thing. Her fingers came up, hands cupping his face, sliding down his neck, over his chest; she was at an awkward angle, half lying on her side while he kneeled at the edge of her bed, but she managed it anyway; her arms caught around him, gently pulling, attempting to draw him up onto the bed.

Saeldur followed her insistent pull, slipping underneath the woolen blankets and lying half on top of her and half besides her. Her body was incredibly warm as his hand moved from her face, down her shoulders and arms and around her waist. He began kissing her hard, fervently; her softness and curves, her gentle touches and sweet scent arousing and comforting.

They could both be dead tomorrow. Tomorrow? Try a few hours. For the first time since coming to Elysium, Saeldur was genuinely frightened of what the future would bring. And quite suddenly and inexplicably, he _needed_ this woman beside him the way he needed air. The fear rolled in with his passion and even if it was only for a few hours, he wanted to take the minutes and make the most of them as if it would be the last joyful act of his life. He pressed his cheek against hers and exhaled, his fingers tentatively pulling at the bottom of her tunic.

Torio's heart was thumping; her head pressed back into the padded cot beneath her as his mouth moved hungrily against hers. Her memories twisted like a roiling labyrinth for a moment; _there should be a wooden table behind her back, and wizard's robes clothing the body that lay against her instead of rough spun linen... _

...and yet the elf's cool hands sliding down her neck, the pointed ears sweeping gracefully against the side of his head, the dark hair spilling from the high forehead; they were utterly familiar things, that smacked of home and normalcy and comfort. Sand wasn't here; she could have left a trail of books leading straight to her tent flap and he would never come, not with the stretch of the planes and a strange woman between them.

She let her thoughts sink into the waiting, peaceful forgetfulness that waited at the edge of her memories like a faithful watch hound and sighed, pressing up against Saeldur's body; she felt his breath trickle along the side of her face, felt his fingers pull at her tunic. She turned her face, nuzzling the shell of his ear, pressing her lips against the upswept tip as she gently placed her hand over his and began sliding her tunic upwards along her torso.

Saeldur sighed lowly as Torio's mouth found his ear and he held himself still as her lips explored the pointed pinna. They would have to be fairly quiet; the tent provided no measure of privacy and even as the arousal grew between his legs, he was vaguely aware of people moving about just outside the tent. He very slowly lifted the tunic over her skin, over her rounded breasts, lifting her gently from the cot so that he could slip the clothing over her arms and shoulders. He very carefully placed it on the ground besides them and then turned back to her. His fingers tenderly traced down from her throat, in between her breasts; her skin was so hot it seemed to light his blood on fire.

He kissed the top of her neck, where her jaw and her ears met; then he delicately took her earlobe in between his teeth while his hand cupped and kneaded her breasts. The low light of the tent had softened all her features beyond its already normally gentle curves. "You're very beautiful - _vanima –_ Torio..."

Torio sucked in a deep breath, her eyes falling shut; faintly, through the thin fabric of the tent around them, she heard the laughter of someone in response to a conversation; booted, hooved, clawed, padded feet all trod past and around, and the sounds of snoring lupinals threaded beneath it all from the other tents around her. _By gods, they'd have to keep it down or they'd have quite an audience..._

His fingers were cool against her flesh, her nipples peaking instantly in the chill air and beneath his palm. Her own skin flushed with heat, every pounding of her pulse seeming to send small rivulets of fire through her veins. _Icy one, you seem to be melting..._

_And you have melted, haven't you?_ She had been cold, so cold...empty and chilled, feeling nothing, and it had all been effectively chipped away by another elf's caresses, his slightly embarrassed kindnesses and uncomplicated acceptance of what she was, despite how complicated they both were. She had melted, and _felt_...and when it had been ripped away, she had bled. Pelor's clerics had healed her body, but she had been wandering since, wounded and empty, unwhole, unable to take pleasure in even the simplest acts, unable to forget.

Now Saeldur's warm breath exhaled over her neck, his mouth closed over the lobe of her ear, and her back curved, pressing her body up into his hands, forcing her fingers to work slowly; they were trembling as she pulled at the stitched laces holding his tunic closed, drawing them through the eyeholes, pulling the fabric apart and down off of his shoulders. The tunic was peeled away and she felt his cool torso press down against hers, his skin smooth and pale and perfect. "I've not heard Faerunian elvish in a long time," she whispered to him lightly, her mouth tracing along his throat between her words. She slid a hand up through his luxurious hair, while the other traced down his spine, following the smooth ridge to the waistline of his trews, where her fingers danced around his waist, slipping between their bodies her fingers stroking the growing hardness between his legs. "Quet ta nae amin au, kesir en' Toril." _Tell me again, elf of Toril._

Saeldur muffled his moans by pressing his mouth hard against her neck. She knew Elvish and for some reason, a human knowing Elvish caused a sharp longing to shoot through him. He pressed his hips forward eagerly into her waiting hands. "Lle naa vanima, Torio." _You are beautiful_. He shrugged off the tunic, letting it fall beside her shirt and then began fumbling with her trousers, his fingers feeling overlarge and clumsy in his excitement. It seemed to take ages but finally, somehow, he managed to loosen the fastenings and began tugging the coarse fabric over her backside, his hands caressing her skin liberally. "Lle naa vanima."

Torio's breath came out ragged, strained, her body shaking slightly with the effort of making sure each movement was slow and silent; she lifted her hips off the bed, allowing him to slide the trousers down her legs. His hands were unfathomably cool, agile, and he ran his palms across her flesh as if he could draw her entire body in through his fingers. She pushed her hips up farther, massaging his thickened, engorged shaft through the fabric of his pants, while she began untying his trousers with her free hand. Her own trews were pushed down around her ankles, and with a flick of her feet, they dropped off the edge of the bed, and suddenly the thin layer of fabric that still lay between them was miles too much. She quickly undid the rest of the laces and pulled the waistband loose, pushing them down off of his narrow hips.

Saeldur rolled on top of her the minute he was fully unclothed, rubbing his body against her smooth skin. His thick shaft was pressed up between her legs; he could feel the damp heat radiating from the apex of her body. He realized that the low lamplight was casting shadows on the walls of the tent and he pulled the blanket over their bodies, hoping to hide the very obvious silhouette of a naked man and woman. He buried his face against her breast, running his tongue around her erect, pink nipples, his ears pressed against her rapidly beating heart. "Mani uma lle merna?" _What do you want_? He lifted his head slightly, staring with a dialated gaze into her grey eyes.

Torio whimpered, biting back a cry as Saeldur's tongue flicked over her skin. She plunged her fingers into his hair, holding his head against her for a moment; she bent her head down, closing her lips around his ear and running her tongue against its edge, sighing lightly. She tasted salt from his skin on her tongue, and a dry, smoked scent filled her nostrils as she inhaled, her lips pulling on his ear; the smell of burning lamp oil, the days travels on his skin, a thick, heady scent that carried lust and excitement and quiet desperation with it, and she breathed it all in until she felt nearly drunk with it.

After a moment she whispered, "Miqul amin." _Kiss me._ She lifted her hips, rubbing them against his body, her muscles twitching at the feel of his lengthened shaft rubbing along her already moist folds. "Sinome." _Here_.

Saeldur nodded imperceptibly and released her nipple from his mouth, letting his lips wander down her stomach and pulling the blanket over his head, plunging into a diffused darkness. Her knees were lifted slightly and it was like he was in a tent in a tent. He spread her legs a little further, his eyesight still keen in the dimness and searching for the wet, pink nub between her folds. He kissed both her thighs and pressed his mouth against her waiting body, the blanket sealing in her heat and her musky feminine scent. He could feel her trembling and he gently pressed her down into the hurriedly set up cot with one arm, while his other arm caressed her thigh, marveling at the silken smoothness of it.

Torio grit her teeth, her hips pressing up into his mouth as she felt it close around the swell between her legs; the heat built rapidly underneath the blanket, and through it all she could feel his cool fingers against her leg, his hair shifting and slithering as it brushed along the insides of her thighs, sending shivering spikes up through her spine, even as he lapped between her legs.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and she let out a long, slow breath, her entire body quaking, her fingers digging into the furs beneath her. _Quiet, quiet, quiet..._

His tongue slid over a particularly sensitive spot, and her muscles spasmed, molten heat rolling through her skin. Her hips bucked, her knuckles whitened... "Saeldur," she whispered, the name rolling into a moan, "…remaining silent is not..._gods_...not one of my strong points."

Saeldur lifted his mouth from her body a fraction of an inch. "As an ambassador, I should hope not." He poked his head up from the blanket, his eyes bright as he gazed up from between her legs. "Then talk to me about...ahh...something you know a lot about. Tell me about yourself. Pretend I'm interviewing you for your historical entry." He ducked back down, the blanket settling around his ears and pressed his tongue now around her wet opening, probing gently. His own desires were building impossibly; he could feel the tip of his member brushing against the soft furs of the bed every time he moved and he pushed his mouth firmly into her, muffling a slipped groan.

Torio writhed against the cot, her breath beginning to heave through her lungs, her hips thrusting gently, erratically, against Saeldur's mouth. "About...myself," she breathed out. "I'm...not positive how old I am. I grew up in Luskan...I was a..._oh gods_..a courtesan...before my former master found me and took me away..." It was strange, to be reciting the rather grim memories of her past while her entire body was wracked with pleasure; both Saeldur's mouth and the heavy fog that was continuously claiming ground on her memory was making it difficult for her to concentrate. "I love books...they're comforting. There's no judgement found between pages; I love wine...intelligent conversation...poetry..." A moan escaped her lips and she still managed to feel a flush of embarrassment at the last. She watched the shadows skitter across the tent fabric high above their heads, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with passion, her chest rising and falling, the furs beneath her brushing along the skin of her back.

She whimpered, her muscles clenching low in her stomach, pulsing rhythmically as she grew closer to release. " Saeldur..._please_..." She reached down, pulling at his shoulders, attempting to draw him up against her body once more.

Saeldur slowly and carefully moved up the length of her body, half an eye on the shadows he was casting. "Torio, lye myr cali sesaer si jhas os." _We should have turned the lamp off_. He pressed himself down against her, his engorged member between her legs. "Books, wine, intelligent conversation... I'm not one for poetry ...but you're a woman after my own heart it seems." He nuzzled her neck and gently began pushing himself inside, smothering his breathing against her flesh as he felt her furrow envelope him. When every inch of him was in, he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow exhale, whispering hoarsely, "Oh gods - you feel so good."

Torio stifled a soft laugh against the side of his neck, that quickly turned into a sharp, indrawn breath as he pushed his length inside of her. "Amin cael bhen aer, Saeldur... amin shyr varaes na eirdinae darn llie." _I have human eyes, Saeldur...I would rather be able to see you._ Her fingers traced over his back, pulling the blanket up over their bodies, her hips lifting up off the cot and pressing against him; she bent her legs, sliding them around his hips under the blanket, pressing him down hard against her body. An imperceptible, soft sigh escaped her lips...she felt completely enveloped, surrounded by furs and soft cloth and a warm body that was sliding, thrusting up inside of her...

"_Sweet Deneir_," she breathed out raggedly. "forget the lamp...we should have traveled miles from anyone and pitched an entirely different camp."

_Nothing an invisibility spell, or a silence spell...or a telepathy spell couldn't fix..._

_No_. She wouldn't let her mind travel down that path. She tightened her legs around the elf's body, catching the gleam of silver as the light played over his eyes, and kissed him fiercely, plunging her tongue past his lips. _The wound was barely closed at it was...no need to tear it open once again._

"Amin shyr varaes lle thaer amin." _I would rather you feel me._ Saeldur laughed quietly as he began pushing very gently inside her, the cot making slight creaking noises with each of his subtle movements. "Not a bad idea, Torio, darling. We might have to get a different bed too." He returned her passionate kisses, his hands cupping her face, his fingers toying with the fringes of her short hair. Even the slightest motion was sending curls of pleasure throughout his body; it seemed as though being forced into being very still and stealthy was magnifying all sensations. He began moving his hips in wide, slow circles, his mouth still wrapped around Torio's tongue.

Torio's strangled moan was smothered in Saeldur's mouth, her legs shifting and tightening reflexively around him; each of his movements sent his body rubbing against the already sensitized mound between her legs, while his member delved inside of her. Her fingers dug into his back, pressing the frustrated need to be quiet out through her fingertips, feeling his smooth give under her touch.

"Thaer lle?" _Feel you?_ She slid one hand up his back, through the thick hair that spilled from his head, tracing up his neck, under her fingers found the lobeless line of his ear. "I could oblige you, I suppose." She began rubbing the delicate, ridged ear, sliding her fingers along its edge, pinching the sharpened tips, tracing her mouth along the underside of his jaw to his throat.

Saeldur moaned loudly and then tried to cover it up with a cough, his face flushed with bliss. His body instinctively began thrusting more quickly, his drives forward as carefully controlled as he could manage. He tugged the blanket that had been sliding off their writhing bodies back over their shoulders but he was becoming painfully aware that for all their efforts to be hidden, it was probably as obvious as daylight what was going on.

There was an insistent rhythmic pulse now throbbing deep inside his shaft and he gave Torio a series of swift kissing along her neck, feeling her mouth on his own jaw. "Darling...I'm... close."

As soon as he picked up his pace, her body gave an instinctive spasm, the muscles low in her abdomen clenching unbearably once again. Her head fell back against the furs as she sucked in a deep, uneven breath, her chest rising and falling against Saeldur's body rapidly. She tried to still her breathing, tried to still her movements, but then his mouth trailed along her neck and his low, lovely voice whispered _darling _and she pressed her face forward against his shoulder, clinging to him. To hell with being discreet.

She unwound her legs from around his waist, the blanket rustling as she pressed her feet flat against the cot, feeling fur bunch between her toes; she pushed her hips upwards, and began riposting against him, the sounds of their hips smacking together somewhat muffled beneath the blanket. She felt the walls of her canal pulse, tighten, felt heat build at the apex of her legs, and then suddenly she climaxed, her mouth closing around his flesh, gently clamping down on his shoulder as a muffled sob tore from her throat...

She pushed up against him, her hips grinding upwards and forwards even though the space between them couldn't possibly get any smaller. She clung to him, whimpering and gasping against his skin as her body shuddered, pleasure suffusing her entirely.

Saeldur held her close as she shook near silently against him, his shoulder smarting under her teeth. She had a dazed, glowing look and he gently turned her face to his, kissing her sweet lips tenderly. He could hardly keep his legs and hips still and he let the cresting feeling build until he thought he would go drunk from it all. Saeldur lifted his hips and speared her, once, hard, their bodies making the unmistakable noise of passion and then he came. "Oh gods, darling, my darling..." his voice was a deep growl and his eyes shut tightly as his whole body began rocking into hers, his seed spurting out with each forward thrust. His breath was catching his throat; the ecstasy of it all dizzying. With one final moan, he relaxed utterly on top of her, his whole body going limp with satisfaction.

He pressed his face to her chest, his arms draped over her body. "Well, you've definitely earned your place in my version of history..."

Torio let out a quiet, short laugh, her voice thick with satiation. She shifted, sighing lightly as she felt his slackened member slide from her...she wrapped an arm around him staring up at the tent ceiling for a long moment. The warmth of her release was slowly being replaced with a bittersweet ache that sank low in her chest, and she idly stroked the thick hair that scattered down his shoulders, fingering silky strands slightly damp from his moistened skin. Underneath the pangs of guilt, the self-righteous indignation and the raw hurt that still prowled around the edges of her heart, she found that she missed him desperately. The body that lay gently over hers, breathing deeply and holding her lightly reminded her sharply of times before when she had lain, just like this...

She kept her voice light. "I most certainly hope you won't be adding this part to the history books...Otherwise your entire account will likely be the most scandalous historical document ever written." The sounds around their tent had died down, mostly; many creatures had found nooks and crannies to sleep in and the oil of her own lamp was almost completely burned down, the flame flickering haphazardly and casting shadows crazily along the fabric of the tent.

She shifted, sat up, and slipped from the cot, steeling across the room and catching up the flask of rum from the table before slipping back, crawling underneath the blanket. "Since you fought so valiantly to acquire this, it would be a shame to let it sit."

Saeldur propped himself up and eyed the woman before him. "I do hope you enjoy it. I have no idea the make or stock or anything about the rum except that it contains alcohol." He flopped on the bed, closing his eyes sleepily. "A funny thing to be doing before war. Or maybe not so strange." His lips quirked up in a small smile. "You're the battle-weary tactician. Is it always like this?" Even with his eyes closed, he could imagine her naked body beside him and he reached out, letting his hands fall across her waist, brushing the small of her back lightly.

The rum had a slightly heady taste to it, spiced and sweet; she lowered the flask after a moment, staring down at the relaxed features of the elf lying next to her as her skin prickled pleasantly, tingling underneath his fingers. "I suppose it is," she said quietly, after a moment; she thought of the far off Crossroads Keep and its inhabitants, sneaking through hallways at night and creeping into beds not their own. She had been the only one who was made to creep back out again in the early dusk light, and a good thing for that, too; one of the only reasons she had never been caught en route from Sand's room was that they were the only ones in the entire Keep who really needed to hide what they were doing.

She took another drink from the flask, her throat burning as the liquid seared a line straight down to her belly. She set the flask down and nestled against the bed, nuzzling her face close to his. "It's not so odd when you think about it," she whispered, her eyes flickering over the smooth planes of his face. "Considering death is so close...your fate is no longer as solidly in your hands as you might think." A finger threaded across his cheek, tracing the high elven cheekbones. "I suppose it's a defiance of death." Her mouth curled in a smile as she shut her eyes, her voice tinged heavily with sleep. "The proverbial crow of the rooster..."

Saeldur kissed the corner of her mouth and tasted a bit of the rum. "Well, I hope that we can continue to defy death in the coming days, Torio. Literally and figuratively." He began rubbing her back soothingly even as he pulled the blanket back on their cooling bodies. "If this war starts soon, they'll have to give us five minutes to get dressed." He kissed her again. "You need sleep."

Torio sighed, laughing lightly as she settled against the elf's cooler body, relaxing into sleep. "I _was_ sleeping, master historian, until a rather charming elf slipped into my tent with a dearly procured bottle of rum." Her words were barely a murmur, and it only took a few moments for her to drift off, the tired lines around her eyes softening as she fell asleep once more.

Saeldur kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips and then snuggled beside her on the small cot, falling asleep instantly, his breathing relaxed and easy.


	26. Chapter 26

**Volume 3, Chapter 26 – Sand: Her Bare Hands**

Nivarra entered her room, her steps silent; she clutched her heeled slippers in her hands, tired, drained, but inordinately pleased with the results of her meetings. She removed her cloak, dropped her shoes, and opened the door between hers and Sand's rooms, peeking inside.

The elf was asleep, her notes clutched loosely between his fingers on his mattress, his face furrowed in a slight frown. Even as she watched, his eyes snapped open; for a moment he stared straight ahead of him, inhaling deeply, before his eyes flicked up to her face.

"Long night?" she asked, almost cheerfully. "I am going to take a bath, slave; my maidservant is gone for the night. You will join me in the bathing room in five minutes." She turned and exited the room, her steps almost jaunty.

Sand stared after her retreating form, the faint chiming of the _Alarm_ spell still ringing in his head. He stood, stretching his back and then went to the secret chambers, hiding the notes again before following her into the bathing room. "Mistress? Your slave is here."

Nivarra was already undressed, settled into the large porcelain tub, her hair pinned up onto the top of her head. She glanced up as Sand entered. "Good. Fetch that bar of soap; and might I suggest removing your robe? Unless you prefer soaking the fine silk I've given you in bathwater." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and waited, her eyes never leaving Sand for a moment. "Once you've found the soap, slave, bring it here. There's too much road dust on my skin." Her dark eyes gleamed as they narrowed at him. "Wash it off." Here was the only place she could trust to discuss her plans with the elf; her father had too many eyes and ears in the household now, especially now that he took away her control of the guards and servants…

"That wasn't a suggestion so much as a command, now, was it mistress?" He chuckled in spite of himself. Sand pulled his robe off, hanging it on a hook by the door, then took his tunic off as well, dressed now only in his simple trousers. He went over to the shelf where rows of fine soaps sat. Gingerly he picked up a few, sniffing them with his keen nose. Vanilla, strawberry, apple, abbis flower, mint... He picked up a fresh bar of the vanilla soap and knelt beside the tub, dipping the soap in the water. The steam of the room was causing his long hair to stick to the back of his neck and he pushed a strand of hair off his face.

He carefully lathered his hands, building up a healthy froth between his fingers and then began moving them across her collarbone and her shoulders, where ever his hands touched leaving behind a streak of clean, white skin. She was watching him with her hazel eyes, studying him and Sand lifted his eyes to her questioningly.

Nivarra lifted her arms, resting them along the sides of the tub and giving Sand and easier reach. "My father has requested that I bring you to the meeting tomorrow evening," she said evenly, her eyes flitting over his face; _how would he look, on her arm?_ Making a grand entrance with a competent, ageless elven wizard at her side would create just the right impression that the Hosttower needed of them; that they had power. That they could _provide_ power. "You will still maintain your status as my...servant...but you will be asked many questions while you are there." She shut her eyes slightly as his soaped hands slid across her skin. "You will never mention the details of this household; magic, lore, Neverwinter, even, you may speak to them about, but if they ask of my father or myself, you must reveal nothing." Her eyes snapped open and darted to Sand's face. "Especially the ritual we are preparing for."

Her fingers tiptoed along the edge of the tub and toyed along the skin of his chest, leaving trickles of water to slide down the front of his abdomen. "This meeting is important, my pet; it will establish us within the tower." Her eyes grew distant for a moment..."And then we'll no longer need my father..."

Sand let his hands rub lightly across her breasts, feeling a small twitch of arousal as he did so, before moving his hands down to her stomach. "What about information regarding the Shard-Bearer? You had told me previously to keep that to myself." His hands were now moving over one thigh, then another, kneading the muscles slightly as he washed her, the water making soothing lapping sounds against the porcelain sides.

How long ago was it, that he had done something so similar for Torio? Sand gazed at Nivarra's unmarred skin, remembering how Torio's back had been crisscrossed with scars, covered in dried blood, how small she had seemed in the tub...

Nivarra exhaled slowly in pleasure, leaning back against the tub and stretching her legs out under Sand's probing fingers, propping them up on the side of the tub. "Keep that information to yourself for a little while longer, slave," she murmured. "While my father is still alive, he will use whatever information you give them and credit it to himself." She shut her eyes lazily. "When they discover the true nature of the Knight Captain garnering the attention of the githyanki themselves, they will learn it from me."

His eyes flicked to her face and then he lowered it back down to her body. "My research goes well, _Turawen_... I can definitely do this ritual of yours."

She smiled, half-opening her eyes when he mentioned the ritual. "That pleases me more than you know, wizard." She sat up slightly, sliding her legs back into the water of the tub. "Are you going to sit out there on the cold floor all night, slave? Get in here, already. I'm feeling generous, this evening."

Sand snorted lightly and then stood, untying his trousers and letting them drop to the cool tiled floor. Stepping carefully into the tub, he lowered himself down slowly, so as to not spill any of the steaming water. He sighed openly; the water was soothing, calming and he felt a smile creep across his face. He murmured softly, "My mistress is too kind." He picked up the bar of soap again and began washing her calves, the heady scent of vanilla impossibly pleasant smelling to him. He leaned forward, letting his hands move around her back and practically embracing her, washing it as best he could. Her skin was reddening from the heat but her breath felt cool on his shoulder as she exhaled. "Have I missed a spot, dear girl?"

Nivarra's eyes roved over him appraisingly, her skin tingling pleasantly as his fingers stroked over her skin. She slid one leg forward, nudging her toes against Sand's backside and drawing him towards her, between her legs. "You most certainly have, slave," she murmured silkily; her fingers lifted from the tub and slid into his hair, leaving damp trails of water to drip down his scalp, working the leather tie loose and dropping it over the side and onto the floor. She took the soap from his hands, rubbing it between her fingers and letting it slide into the water. Running her froth-slickened hands along his chest, she pressed her mouth forward against his, pushing his lips apart with her tongue.

Sand pressed himself against her body, rubbing his rapidly hardening member against her apex of her legs. Despite the warmth of the water, he could feel the heat between her legs growing. Her soapy hands slid easily down his chest, the smooth frictionless motion relaxing his whole body as he leaned even closer to her. He pulled his mouth away from hers and began kissing her cheeks and jaw, her damp neck. "Well, if I've missed a spot...let me attend to it immediately lest my mistress think me negligent..." Holding himself up with one arm, he slid the other around from her back, his fingers searching for the small female orb between her folds.

Nivarra half-laughed, half-moaned, arching her head back under Sand's mouth; his skin was cool, cooler than hers, and yet she marveled at how the elf's mouth was always hot against her skin, damp and searching, goosebumps rising on her water-chilled body. "I think you've found it, slave..." His fingers rubbed against her flesh, shooting a sharp bolt of pleasure up through the center of her body, and she pushed her hips forward eagerly against his touch. She let her soap-covered hands slip beneath the water, white tendrils floating away from her fingers as they traced his lower abdomen, and gently wrapped around the hardened shaft between his legs.

She began stroking slowly, running her fingers along the engorged length of him. "Tell me slave," she asked breathily, her body still coiling in response to his touch. "Are all moon elves of such...expansive caliber?"

Sand moaned, pressing his mouth harder against her neck and shoulders. "What can I say, mistress? You...ohhh gods...you lucked out with me." Instinctively, he began thrusting his hips in her hands, his own fingers tightening around her flesh, working her in time with her own motion. He gasped, his whole body shuddering in the water, the liquid sloshing over the ceramic sides.

Nivarra inhaled sharply, her chest heaving as her hips twitched in response to his grasping fingers. She pushed up onto her knees, hovering over Sand slightly, pressing her water-slick body against his, feeling rivulets trickle down between them. She pushed her hips forward, letting his hardened shaft push between her thighs, resting beneath her moist opening. "Maybe I did," she said, her voice tight and ragged at the edges. "Prove it to me then." Her hips began gently rocking back and forth, letting his stiff cock slide further between her thighs and back out again, her breath coming hard as she felt him slide against her wet slit. "Or should I just hold you here, slave?" She bent her mouth to his ear, whispering against the curved shell, "I could very well find satisfaction right here...why should I be concerned with you?" Her hips rolled languidly, and she moaned slightly at the growing tension building low in her stomach as she felt his shaft rub its length between her thighs, slow and sensual. "Should I take you, little slave? Do you want me?"

Unbidden, his memory flashed back - _Torio with him in the tub at the safehouse, telling him to tell her that he wanted her.._.

He sagged slightly in the tub, pressing his lips to Nivarra's collarbone to hide the sudden ache that opened in his chest. Barely week and here he was frolicking in a tub with another woman. Was he so calloused that he had forgotten her so soon?

_Torio would have done the same, Sand. She's a survivor. And it's not like you have a choice. There is the matter of the geas..._

The cold voice of reason did little to ease the feeling of betrayal. He shut his eyes for a moment, bracing himself to continue. Nivarra's body was still sliding seductively against him, his member still hard and eager. Sand pulled her closer to him, his lips toying with her own ears. "I think you have the answer to your question between your legs, mistress."

Nivarra laughed throatily, nuzzling against him as his mouth closed around her ear. She slid her legs on either side of him under the water, the water sploshing crazily around them as she shifted. His posture seemed stiffened, slightly, even as she lifted her hips and allowed herself the pleasure of sinking onto his erect shaft, her back arching into him, pressing her chest against his.

"Gods," she whispered, her eyes falling shut as he filled her completely. "You're lucky I'm so generous, slave." She began impaling herself slowly with precise, deliberate thrusts, the water moving in rhythmic waves around the tub, splashing against them. She drew her hands up the side of his neck, cupping his face; his eyes were dark with lust, but there was a discordant note in their look as they stared back at her, framed by midnight damp strands of hair. Her own hazel eyes narrowed slightly as her fingers tiptoed up the side of his head and began rubbing his ears in time with her downward thrusts, her fingers pinching the delicate flesh between their tips. "You look suddenly uneasy, my pet," she whispered, her voice dangerously sweet. "Do you wish me to stop?"

Sand shook his head firmly, "No, mistress, you...you feel too good." And she did. He couldn't deny that. Her hot sex had completely enveloped him and every thrust of hers inched him closer to that inexorable release. He had worked too hard to earn her trust to lose it all because he couldn't forget about another Luskan woman.

He leaned forward, kissing the damp, vanilla scented skin of her breasts, saying lowly, "I'm just really realizing how grateful I am to be with you and not some... other mistress. I don't think I would be able to give anyone else such an...enthusiastic performance." The geas gave a twist at his white lie and he whimpered. He pulled her to him hard, learning back against the tub so that she was lying on top of him. He twisted his arm, snaking it between then until he found her hot centre, stroking the small hill of flesh while at the same time pushing up with his hips and holding himself tightly against her. The tub was now only half full because of their antics. "Dear girl. I am rather glad you send your servant away this evening."

One of the fingers running along his ear slipped back and gripped his hair tightly, lifting his head from the back of the tub for a moment. "So you should be, slave," she said, her voice low and dangerous...and then she released him, fingers tracing almost tenderly down his forehead, along the bridge of his nose, across his mouth...

She gripped each edge of the tub, arching her back straight and tall; her eyes remained trained on his face as she picked up her pace, their bodies making deep, muffled smacking sounds against the bottom of the porcelain tub. She let out a low gasp, trying to push her hips forward against his searching fingers and downwards simultaneously, rolling his shaft in and out of her opening. Nivarra shivered slightly as the heat rose between her legs, contrasting with the droplets of water trickling down her back from the ends of wet hair that had come loose from its bindings. There was a hungry, feverish, feral gleam in her eyes as they flicked from his face and down his body. She bent forward, pressing her mouth against his skin as the water lapped against the edge of his body; her mouth poised over his nipple, and as she felt her walls beginning to clench around his shaft in the throes of orgasm, her eyes flicked up into his face.

"I am not your dear girl, slave," she nearly hissed, and then bit down, her teeth sinking into the flesh around his nipple, smothering a harsh cry as the climax took her full force.

Sand cried out, his voice resonating in the tiled bathing room, as sharp pain of her teeth seared through him. He arched his back into her, driving himself forward, feeling his entire shaft rub against her spasming wet furrow, his fingers scrabbling loosely at her waist trying to push her down on him. He let out a plaintive whimper, pushing up further against her shuddering body and then the orgasm exploded from his loins outward. His head fell back against the porcelain tub and it seemed as though he lost all control of his body as his seed pumped into her, his breath coming out in a jagged moan of guilty pleasure and satisfaction, "Gods...Torio..."

His blue eyes widened and he froze on the spot, the last traces of his climax disappearing entirely and was slowly replaced by a very pervading chill. "Oh gods, mistress, I am so sorry..."

Nivarra's eyes snapped to his face; for a moment all she could see in the rapidly narrowing field of her vision was him lying beneath her, his pale skin flushed pink from the heat of the water and his climax; her own body thrummed contentedly, and yet an icy cold rage rushed through her veins.

She had hardly realized she had hit him until the noise of knuckle meeting flesh reached her ears; she saw his head snap back, heard the dull thud of it smacking into the tub behind him. Her hand swung back again, slapping him brutally hard across the face; she saw a light spray of scarlet blood mist the white porcelain, as he ricocheted away from her blow, and her hand swung down again, and again...

...she had to force herself to calm, force a deep, ragged in-drawing of breath. She had been holding it, her teeth gritted against her rage, and she let out a furious, frustrated yell before pulling herself away from his body, stepping out of the tub, her chest heaving as if she had just run through the hallways.

She stood there, staring at him where he lay in the tub for a long moment, the only sound in the bathing room that of her furious breathing. "Gone, you said. Gone but safe, wasn't it?" Her hands snatched at a towel as she began speaking feverishly, rubbing her body down, her eyes raging. "There are ways to find anyone..._anyone_. I will find her, wizard. I will bring her here, in front of you." Her shift slid over her head and down around her body, and her hand snapped forward, gripping Sand's cheeks between her fingers; her eyes were crackling with a determined fury. "And when I bring her here, slave, I will kill her. I will let you watch the lifeblood spill from her body, so that you'll _know _that she is gone, well and truly." She shoved him away from her, and stormed from the bathing room, the door slamming shut on the sound of her wet, bare feet padding over the stone floor.

Sand gingerly touched his face, his fingertips revealing bright red liquid pouring from his nose and lips. He grimaced and reached for a clean towel, dabbing his cuts gently. He stayed sitting in the tub a long while, his face pressed against the cloth, his eyes shut. His mind and thoughts went blank for a bit, while his face throbbed in pain.

He didn't know how long he sat there but then finally he looked up at the closed door, where she had exited. The towel was soaked in brownish, drying blood but at least his cuts had clotted. He set his puffy lips in a thin line, and whispered lowly, "You won't get a chance to kill her before I kill you." The geas flared and he nearly vomited, his whole body shuddering as he struggled to maintain control.

He stood from the water, drying himself off and pulling on his clothes, wincing as the fabric of his tunic brushed by his face. It was a miracle she hadn't broken his nose. He left the bathing room and returned to her chambers, his shoulders slumped, waiting for whatever else she had in store for him.

Nivarra merely glanced at Sand coolly as he entered the room again. "Take the potion on the desk," she said absently; she was brushing her hair in front of the vanity, her eyes fixed on her reflection. There was a blue potion sitting where she indicated, its corked seal still intact. "I have my own personal 'hoard' of them, you might say."

She stood, dropping the brush, and moved to her bed, pulling back the sheets and sliding inbetween them. "Hurry up and get over here already, slave. There's a chill in the air and I'm cold." Her voice was sharp, caustic, as she settled down against the pillows, shutting her eyes.

Sand picked up the potion, uncorking it and smelling it. Well, it didn't seem to be poison and he was fairly certain if she had wanted to kill him, she already would have.

_Besides, Sand, she seems like the type who prefers to use her bare hands..._

He drank the potion in its entirety, feeling the cuts mend. The dull ache was still there and as he glanced in the vanity as he passed it: his eye was beginning to swell slightly, his lips were swollen but otherwise, he was all right. He looked vaguely like the time he had taken a club to the side of the head by an orc before Casavir had stepped in front of him...

He wondered if Casavir had even noticed he was gone. Funny to be even thinking about Casavir in a friendly light, instead of his usual derisive let's-use-the-paladin-as-a-shield way.

Sand sighed, and undressed slowly, climbing into the bed with Nivarra, warming her up but feeling utterly chilled. Birren's contact would have to go without tonight; what would he write in any case? That she had had a good meeting with whomever she was meeting with and then beat him up in the tub?

He still had_ some _pride left.

Sure as the morning sunrise, Nivarra's foot planted against Sand's back and kicked him from the bed, just as her maidservant entered the room to prepare her mistress for the rest of the day.

"I have much to prepare for this evening," she said smoothly as the serving woman dressed her. "Someone will bring you dress robes this afternoon; I want you washed, dressed, and ready by sundown, and that means my father's spells already memorized." Her voice had a tinge of excitement. "Our time is growing closer, slave... maybe tomorrow...a few more days, at most, and this estate will be mine." Her eyes closed almost reverently. "As will Shar's dark power."

Those eyes snapped open again and fixed on Sand's face. "And that means that I expect you to study that ritual today while I'm gone." Her eyes narrowed, examining his features. "Get the healer to take a look at you, as well; I don't need a black-eyed wizard at my side tonight." She turned and clipped from the room, her skirts swishing in her wake.

The maidservant lingered for a moment, her expression compassionate. "Your eye looks terrible, milord; if you want, I can bring you to Alysin? Or I can bring her here later, if you'd prefer."

Sand waited until Nivarra had left the room, before standing up from the floor. He looked in the vanity mirror. His eye was puffy and purple, but the swelling in his lip had gone down, and he glanced at the maidservant. "Oh you don't have to call me 'lord', dear girl. We're all slaves or servants here." He pulled on a tunic and then nodded to her, "Bring me to Alysin then; I could stand to get out of this room for a bit. You're very sweet, child, thank you."

The maidservant gave a half-hearted shrug of her thin shoulders as she opened the door. When the guard gave her a questioning look, she gestured to Sand's face. "Healer," she said. "Lady Nivarra commanded it." The man narrowed his eyes at them, but let them go through, and the girl led Sand down near the servant's quarters to Alysin's door.

The woman opened it at the first knock, her aged face nearly haggard looking. "How did I know I would see you soon?" she said, as she held it open for Sand to enter. "Come on, come in. Liselle, thank you."

The maidservant nodded, and smiled at Sand wearily before slipping from the room.

Alysin shut the door and winced, examining Sand's face. "How did this happen? Come here, and have a seat, lad."

Sand sat and looked at the healer. "Ah, it's embarrassing, really. And truly, I did deserve it." He chuckled wryly, feeling comforted by the cleric's presence. "I...how shall I put this delicately... I called her the wrong name during a particularly intimate moment." He snickered suddenly then sighed. "I'm certain any other woman would have done the same to me; she just happens to have a particularly well-aimed fist for a girl."

He glanced up at her tending to his face and dropped his voice. "How...are...things here, my dear?"

Alysin's eyes were strangely compassionate. "The Lady Nivarra has something of a...violent streak in her; I've seen it all too often." Her fingers proped Sand's swollen cheekbone gently, and then she cupped his face. "Does she do this to you often? You shouldn't be afraid to come to me, you know."

Alysin lowered her voice as she began praying; she pressed her hands to Sand's face and shut her eyes as a light suffused them both for a moment...when she finished the prayer, the light blinked out in a heartbeat, and she sank back onto the bed, sitting on the edge and wiping her brow. Sand's face was now perfectly smooth, the swelling gone. "It's been rough," she said quietly. "I'm positive that Lord Dornan knows nothing, but Master Yune has been generous with the whip; I've been called in multiple times this morning already to stop some of the servants from bleeding to death."

She stared at Sand hollowly for a moment, and then sighed, smiling. "I hope it will be over, soon, my boy. Not to apply any pressure on you, wizard, but they all seem to be counting on you." She held up her hands. "Now, I don't know what your plan is and I don't want to know; but if there's anything I can do to help you, lad, just let me know." She winked at him. "Even if you just need to run your mouth for a few minutes while someone listens."

Sand touched his face gratefully. "Ah, you're a miracle worker, dear Alysin." He sighed, leaning against the chair. "No, she doesn't do this often. And I wouldn't want you to waste your healing spells on me. I'm one of the more coddled slaves; I know this. Nivarra won't kill me until I've lost my use to her. As of yet, I'm still useful." He reached over and patted the cleric's hand. "You do good work here. Thank you."

He stood and made for the door. "I know they're counting on me. It seems as though, for the past year, half of Faerun has been counting on me."


	27. Chapter 27

**Volume 3, Chapter 27 – Torio: The Want of the Spirit**

_A special thanks to Acedealer for writing the character of Mephasm._

* * *

A heavy darkness had settled over the land, a darkness that could be felt and tasted. The guardinals in the tents were all sleeping fitfully; the threat of battle and war all too real to be shaken off.

Small groups of lupinals had already threaded their way into the valley, using the cover of nightfall to stake out positions along the edges and outskirts, hiding away from the open fields. Cloaked mustevals were scouting the edge of the devilish camp, seeking out weaknesses to exploit. There was a moment of excitement and then panicked confusion; but soon the weapon racks were discovered and slowly and methodically, the small guardinals began sabotaging the weapons, making no sounds as they worked.

A single lantern and the white flag of an emissary could be seen making its way slowly from the infernal encampment. It stopped at the halfway point and waited.

* * *

"Torio! You're needed!" A young female lupinal stuck her head through the tent flap and then immediately withdrew it. "Oh! Uh...Sorry. I didn't know you had a guest..." She coughed, embarrassed. "Torio - Prince Talisid wants you with the Five Companions when they go to parley. They're leaving soon."

Torio's eyes snapped open; she sat up too quickly, Saeldur's arm sliding from around her waist, and blinked rapidly in the utter blackness of the tent, the lamp having burned out long before. Her head was pounding. "I'm coming," she called. "I'll be there shortly."

It was a fumbling, urgent struggle in the darkness to find all of her bits of clothing and slide into them, but it was done easily enough. The armor was more difficult, and even when she bent over the cot and pressed a swift kiss against Saeldur's head, her fingers were still working quickly, tightening down buckles and straps. "Be ready," she whispered. "It's beginning."

She passed out of the tent and into the cool night air, running a hand through her short hair in an attempt to smooth it down. She could see a small cluster of shapes at the top of the hill, waiting for her, and she broke into a jog as she left the edge of the camp, making her way towards them.

Prince Talisid and the Five Lieutenants were waiting, dressed resplendently in their finest armor which gleamed in the torchlight. The leonal glanced down at the human. "You are being afforded a great privilege, Torio. I will speak on behalf of Elysium but I would seek your input on all bargains. Keep your ears alert for me." They began walking down the hill towards the tiny point of light in the valley, the guardinals moving across the uneven ground effortlessly, crossing the valley floor at a regal pace.

They stopped in front of the small emissary party and both parties approached each other at the same time, following some unspoken code or rule. The figure before them appeared to be a twisted, hellish version a lupinal. He stood tall, a massive mace in his hands, and as he grinned in greeting, a snout full of long, jagged teeth could be seen. To the right of him, waiting restlessly, was a winter wolf whose fur shone bright white under the stars, the chill being felt by all from his breath every time he exhaled. To his left, a familiar red snake was uncoiling itself from the grass, holding its slim body up so that it was eye level with Torio. Its tongue flicked over the end of its snout as it stared at her with yellow eyes.

The wolfish devil spoke first, "I am Amon, Vassal of Lord Geryon, Serpentine Lord. Already you have seen the might of our Lord. Surrender now and he will be merciful."

Prince Talisid responded simply, "You know we cannot surrender; help me understand why you have come and I will be more willing to negotiate. Why does Elysium hold such interests to him?"

Amon spoke again, "Lord Geryon was once ruler of the Fifth Layer of Hell. During the times of the Reckoning, the great Asmodeus, Overlord of the Dukes of Hell and lord of Nessus the Ninth Layer, banished him from the Fifth. He lost his position to the traitor, Leviathan the Silent Lord, Prince of Stygia." Amon smiled again, showing his full row of pointed teeth. "We are merely seeking a home."

The Prince practically snarled. "And you think we will allow you to infiltrate the most sacred plane of Elysium with your filth?"

The snake beside Amon hissed softly, "Oh my Prince but I think you've already been infiltrated quite well. The attacksssss throughout the day...and... I do believe you have one among your ranksssss here who belongsssssss with usssssss, yesssss?" He turned to Torio, his gaze unnervingly bright despite the gloom of the night. "You're ssssstill sssstanding here. And sssssso issssss the Prince and the Avoral. You think you've made the right decision, yessssss?"

6 pairs of eyes turned in her direction. Prince Talisid said lowly, "What is he talking about, Torio?"

_Damn that snake._

Torio wondered briefly how many times that particular thought had been aimed at her as it flashed through someone's mind.

She felt very short amidst the majestic glory and dark fiendishness that, at the moment, was focusing all of its attention on her. She cleared her throat, her voice strained as she spoke. "I was made an offer. Either...either you, Your Highness, or the Duke..." her hand gestured towards Duke Windheir, "...pierced on the edge of a poisoned dart." Her grey eyes fell on the sinuous red snake coiled erect in the grass. "I was..._assured_ that a portal back to Toril would open as soon as one or the other were pricked."

She stared at the devils for a long moment..._belongs to us..._ "Unfortunately, I have more than enough demons of my own to make more deals as it is. I...declined, Prince."

They could give her to them right now, she knew it as certainly as she knew she stood on that hill with them. She couldn't fight them off, she couldn't outrun them; she'd be pressed into their waiting hands like a bouquet of armored, human, mortal flowers, and then...she'd truly be where she belonged. She stood staring at some space off in the distance, waiting under the night sky for their response.

The snake seemed to be delighting in the exchange. "Give ussss the traitor. We will not hurt her; we sssssswear. If we losssssse, we'll even give her back to you. In exchange we will..."

"You will leave Elysium?" The Prince asked quietly, the edges of his voice jagged.

The snake laughed and it was an utterly unpleasant noise, which grated on the ears. "Oh noesssssssssss. Not sssso easssssy. But - we can give you your hostagesssss back or sssssssssend ssssssome of our army away."

The leonal prince turned to Torio, his eyes unreadable. "Why is the human so important to you?"

Amon shot the question back to them. "Why is she so important to you? She is not one of your petitioners - her memory is as in tact as the day she arrived. You owe her no protection and she owes you no allegiance. She...reeks of evil. I can smell it on her from here." He took a step towards Torio. "We know...of a person... who is very anxious to get her back and is quite willing to bargain with us for her."

The Prince narrowed his eyes. "She is our strategist. If we give her up, you must also be willing to give up your strategist."

Amon bowed. "That would be me. And I would agree to such an arrangement."

The guardinals around the Prince were shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot until finally Duke Lucan spoke up, "My Lord - I..." but the Prince raised a paw, silencing him. "Amon is correct in that she is not a petitioner of Elysium and as such, not under my rule. Such a decision has to be made by her, and her alone." He turned to her, kneeling before her and whispering in her ear so that only she could hear. "Torio - the choice is yours but know that I am confident we can defeat them even with Amon in their ranks. In fact, such a victory would be more satisfying and more crippling to this Lord Geryon. But if you decide to go, I promise you I will find a way to save you, to get around the bargain. Devils do it all the time; I'd just be returning the favor."

Torio's entire body seized for a moment, and her eyes flicked to the devils poised before them. They watched her; the snake's eyes were gazing at her knowingly; the wolf's gaze was feral, hungry. Amon's snout curled at the edges, almost as if he were smiling.

She looked back at Talisid's face; he met her eyes squarely, the slight breeze shifting and ruffling the short hairs along his snout.

_Their strategist._ It would be an advantage; they needed advantages. What would it gain them; fewer deaths? A quicker battle? The lives of the hostages returned to them?

She swallowed hard. _Back to where you belong, Claven._ "All right," she said hollowly. "I'll go."

Prince Talisid gripped her shoulders tightly. "Remember what I said. Have hope, child. I will tell...Chaksa and the others of your sacrifice." The leonal stepped back and as soon as he did, chains of ice formed themselves around Torio's wrists and ankles.

Amon nodded. "Then I shall depart as per our agreement. That is...if the Prince would be so kind as to unseal the portals for me..."

The Prince gestured to the Duchess Callisto and with a wave of a large, furred hand, the ursinal opened a large, yawning portal in the ground beside the devil. Amon gestured to the winter wolf. "Come, pet. Let them have their war." He stepped through and instantly the portal closed in on itself.

The snake relaxed its body and let itself fall back to the ground. "It has been a pleasure, Prince. A pity you have just sentenced your people to die." It turned and began slithering through the grass, back towards the devils' camp, the magical chains pulling Torio forward.

Cold bit into her skin, harsh and merciless; she was forced to follow the slithering form in the grass, her throat dry as the guardinal army behind them disappeared behind the hill...

...and the devil's army was spread before her. Her heart sank into her stomach as she took in the leagues of horned, smoldering, fanged creatures, large and small, beautiful and terrible. The smell of sulphur filled her lungs until she nearly gagged on it, and her skin stung faintly where it lay uncovered by clothing or armor.

Hungry eyes fell on her as they broke the threshold of the camp, fiends parting to let them pass...as they closed the path behind her once again, Torio shut her eyes, letting the chains tug her along.

_Gods help me..._

The snake led her to an opulent tent in the middle of the camp. A banner flying over it had the insignia of a bull's head surrounded by a snake; Geryon's banner. The snake paused at the opening of the tent. "My Lord. I return."

A deep voice answered, "Enter."

The snake turned to Torio and gestured with its tail that she was to enter first. It followed her, keeping low to the ground, saying, "Talisssssssid refussssssesssss to ssssurrender. But we have the human."

Lord Geryon, deposed Lord of the Fifth, turned around and studied Torio. "What an interesting catch. You are my bargaining chip, human. There are events on Toril, of which I am sure you are familiar, that I am keen to take advantage of. And you will be the key to that." He laughed loudly. "You will stay in my tent while you are here. You are much too valuable to me to be kept with the common slaves and prisoners." He pointed at her bonds and instantly they fell away. "I do not feel as though I require manacles to keep you bound. Leave the tent without my permission and I promise you, they -" He jerked his head towards the outside of the tent. "-will eat you alive, tear you limb from limb and drink your blood before you've taken three steps."

Torio felt her blood run hot and cold at the mention of Toril. _Bargaining chip?_ She cursed (and more than likely not the only time she would,) the deviousness of devils. She rubbed her wrists, the blood rushing back into her frozen flesh and smarting painfully as she eyed the creature before her...he stretched high towards the ceiling of the tent, reared up on a long, sinuous tail where his legs should have been. Scales gleamed and coiled, serpentine and utterly eerie; from the waist up he bore the sculpted torso and face of a man, feral and beautiful and terrifying; there was a potent physicality that made her shy back a step. He radiated strength, power…and a slightly electrifying aura that gleamed from the strange, mad light in his eye.

"I don't see how I would be of use to you, my lord," she said, attempting to keep her voice even; it came out small sounding, ragged in the tent's confined quarters. "I'm naught but a criminal on Toril, hardly. No one would bargain for me."

Lord Geryon chuckled. "You are too modest, human. Let me see what my spies have reported." He slithered back and forth in a strange parody of pacing, the powerful muscles of his tail bunching and relaxing in a peristaltic motion as he moved. "Your former lover, _Bodaes_, is powerful enough to send you to Elysium. He would bargain for you, surely? And what of Garius? The King of Shadows? They seek to rule the regions once covered by ancient Illefarn; but that leaves much of Toril ripe for the picking."

His poisonous tail coiled around her waist and pulled her closer. "If no one will bargain for you, you will make a fine addition to my army. I know what you are capable of." He roughly ran his hands through her hair and then released her. "The battle begins. I must oversee it since I have lost my tactician. Make yourself comfortable." The fiend picked up a black greatsword which hummed with a dark energy and a matching black shield and slid gracefully from the tent.

Torio stared at the tent flap long after Geryon left, her head buzzing. There were no chairs in the tent, no proper furniture to speak of except for a few low tables; the corners were covered in soft, plush looking pillows, and she sank on to one, the cushion sinking only slightly beneath her small weight.

The battle was beginning, and she wasn't even _there_.

She pressed a hand to her chest, shutting her eyes. Her stomach turned sickeningly, her breathing came with difficulty; she was _right in the middle_ of their camp, in their leader's _tent_...

The memory of his overlarge hands pulling through her hair made her skin prickle coldly, and she crept forward through the tent, peeking out through the slit in the tent flap.

The vast majority of the army seemed to be comprised of the short, fleshy lemures and yet there was still a frightening number and variety of other more dangerous devils. Lord Geryon seemed to have at his disposal a strange ragtag army; likely deserters or those banished from other the other Levels of the Hells. The familiar barbed devils, the bearded devils, the erinyes, the imps and the chain devils Torio all recognized. She could see the wispy white prowling forms of Hellcats slinking between tents. One passed be the open tent flap where Torio was peeking out and gave a low rumbling growl; it swatted half playfully at the human once or twice before moving on; anyone looking at the scene would be oddly reminded of a cat waiting outside a mousehole.

The horned devils, bone devils, and ice devils were less familiar yet no less terrifying. She could see a small handful of pit fiends towering above the rest, directing the marching army below them. Soon the encampment was nearly emptied and for a long, long, _indescribably_ long period there was nothing but silence.

Then a hot, red explosion that could be felt and seen through the fabric of the tent; the loud clamoring of voices could be heard once the explosion died down, harsh gutteral cries, majestical regal roars all intermixed in the valley below.

The battle had started.

* * *

Torio's fingers had clenched around the edges of the flaps, and she pulled them open a little wider, trying to catch sight of something..._anything_...other than flapping tent fabric and the churned mud of ground trodden on by too many feet.

A low curse of frustration rolled low in her throat and she turned from the tent in disgust and anxiety, looking around her once again.

Since he _had _left her here...

There was a chest pushed up against the center tent pole; it seemed most of the things of relative value had been centered around the pole, far away from the edges of the tent, where curious hands or prying eyes could reach them discreetly. She glanced once more at the entrance to the tent; an explosion of fire lit up the sky, casting a red glow on one side for a moment, and she turned, lifting the lid cautiously and peering inside, one hand sliding down into the shadowed depths and rummaging through its contents.

There were gems and jewelry of every imaginable stone, size and cut. As Torio's fingers brushed them, she could feel the magical energies or protective qualities of each. There were vials in the chest as well - vials filled with strange murky liquids, some of which were hot to the touch, others which chilled her fingers to the bone. There was a small nondescript wooden box, slightly larger than her palm. When she opened it, a small bowl filled with a black liquid was inside and no matter how she tilted the box, the liquid never spilled from its container. There were surprisingly no books or pieces of writing.

At the bottom of the trunk lay a long golden rapier which seemed to draw her fingers forward. The weapon seemed to be bathed in a white, pure light; a stark contrast to the oppressive doom of the infernal encampment.

Suddenly -

"Psst. Torio." The familiar squeaky voice of a musteval could be heard from the tentflap. "I'm glad to see you're unhurt. I'm going back to our side. Any messages you want me to deliver?"

Torio nearly jumped, her heart rate skyrocketing as she skidded back from the trunk and then dropping down again the blink of an eye it took for her to realize who was actually speaking. She moved to the tentflap stealthily, whispering, "Yes! Tell them the camp is utterly deserted at the moment; tell Chaksa and Saeldur..." her voice broke momentarily. "Tell them...tell them I'm all right."

There was a soft squeak in response, and then the near-silent skittering of feet as the musteval disappeared. She turned back to the chest, reaching down and fingering the rapier...after a moment's hesitation, she pulled it out, removing the elegant kris from its sheath and replacing it with the slightly glowing blade, its light extinguished as it slid into the leather casing. The kris, she hooked through the belt on the opposite hip, and wondered briefly why they hadn't bothered to disarm her...

_They don't need to; even if you scored a few hits you would be deader than dust as soon as one of them seriously decided you needed to die._

"A beautiful tool," A hollow voice spoke plainly. "…but meaningless without a plan to employ it." The words were an echo of her thoughts and reverberated faintly within the thin flesh of the tent. She should have recognized the voice. Of all devils, this was the last one she least expected would ever find her – or have reason to do so. Mephasm.

He moved towards her soundlessly, though she could see the edges of his azure robes drag against the ground. "I can help," He said, his words slipping in between his steps, "But you must give me something in return." He came close to her – within an arm's length but still buried in shadows – and extended his naked arm forward. His jagged-edged fingers unfolded into an open palm. "For as much as you are willing to surrender, I am willing to offer."

Torio's head cocked to the side, her eyes narrowing. "Mephasm." The devil seemed to plague the planes in their entirety...Not only did he always return like a rather deep-voiced, azure bad penny of pure but polite evil, but she was surprised at the level of power the devil seemed to be able to manipulate; he had found her, in the camp of a deposed Devil Lord, and had the audacity to try and bargain with her as if they were nowhere more dangerous than the basement of Crossroads Keep.

_By gods, _but she was scared. Any minute Lord Geryon could return, and decide she would make a better meal than a bargaining tool. . "So barring the tirade of questioning involving why you're here and how you found me...what would this help constitute?" She folded her arms across her chest, warily. "And what do you want in return?"

His offer entertained, Mephasm cordially lowered his hands and emerged into the light. His cerulean face was still and expressionless as his mighty jaw lowered, "The devil that holds you and would bargain with your life is known to my Master, the Still Lord, as an enemy. Though my Master has no love for you and despises you and your comrades for my imprisonment at the Keep," His orange eyes flared like hot coals, "He would delight greatly in seeing Garyon humiliated. Your escape alone, easily guaranteed, will not do this. I will give you the power to see him broken – but you must risk your life to do so, and do exactly as I say." He pulled his hands together and then spread them apart to encompass her space entirely, "In essence, you will be bargaining for your escape with yourself."

Torio pressed her lips together, her eyes considering as she examined the devil's familiar form in front of her. Mephasm wasn't exactly trustworthy, but...it was astounding, what a familiar face could do to one's sense of character. She was almost _glad_ to see him. _Better him than the sorceress._

So, valiantly risk her life in order to bring down a mighty devil lord and escape his clutches all in one fell swoop. The day that something was ever easy would be a day to be marked by constant celebration.

"It's not as if my life isn't at great risk regardless," she said quietly. "Very well, devil...tell me what I need to do."

"The sword you have is more than just a magical weapon", Mephasm revealed as he spun his palm in a foreign arc, causing the blade to rattle in obedience, "It has been imbued with a consciousness. The want of the spirit within gives this sword the power to kill a devil, but only one. And though the sword's other enchantments will endure unceasingly, its true power remains for but one strike. " He closed his fist and the weapon relaxed instantly. "Before you think of using it in on me, I will tell you that bargains have been made beyond this realm make this impossible – the soul within the sword is the property of my Master and will do no harm to his servants." The glow in his orange eyes subsided, cooled by a complete confidence.

"The sword is meant for Garyon. Leave this tent and never return. Find him and kill him." He pulled away into a gracious bow, "You have made a wise choice, Torio Claven. I will be watching to see that I have as well."

Torio's hand clamped down on the hilt of the rapier sheathed at her side.

_Kill Geryon._

Easy enough for the craftiest woman on Faerun, yes?

_Crafty versus an army of devils will not save you, girl._

"Before you leave," she said quickly, "I doubt our deal would go very far if I were made to wade through Lord Geryon's entire army in order to get to him. Can you...get me close to him? Get me away again?" She held her palms out in a gesture of slight helplessness, but her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she took in the blue-skinned devil half-melted into the shadows. "Otherwise our agreement is over before it has time to reach fruition; I won't last long charging across the valley in plain sight."

"You will not need me to get close to him." Mephasm answered with precise disregard for her other question. "The blade desires the blood of a devil and cannot be denied. Until this infernal craving is sated, you are invincible and unstoppable in its pursuit. Devils that see you will fear you, for no devil would knowingly forfeit his life or freedom." A cloud of grandiose blue smoke rose from his hands, now folded delicately in front of him," They will break away before you and a path will open through the hordes. You will not fail in that task, for the sword cannot fail."

The smoke thickened into long strands and encircled Mephasm completely like the coils of an ethereal viper, "The only devil that does not see you will be Lord Geryon, and in his stillness you will strike. Afterwards, if you have anything to offer, we will speak of getting you home."

When the cloud separated, he was gone.

Torio stared at the place where Mephasm had stood, momentarily bereft.

_Well, Claven. You heard the manipulative, sly, untrustworthy denizen of the Hells; just walk through the devil's army and kill him._

Torio slipped to the entrance to the tent, shutting her eyes for a moment; she inhaled shakily, wishing for a moment that Deneir was patron of ambassadors-turned-warriors-turned-devil-slayers instead of knowledge and cartography. She muttered a swift prayer, regardless, that sounded closer to a sharp tongue-lashing rather than a humble supplication for aide, and then checked outside to ensure the coast was clear.

There was no one immediately around the tent; obviously there was no thought given to guarding her, little human creature that she was; she gripped the rapier in her hand and unsheathed it, before carefully stealing forward, walking between tents and setting her feet towards the cacophony of battle, her heart pounding.

As Torio peered over the ridge, a bloody scene lay before her in the valley below. The devils were utterly surrounded by the guardinals, who would dart in and attack, diverting attention from the frontlines before retreating a short way. But the losses along the front of the battle appeared massive - for devils and guardinals alike. The lemures had almost been completely wiped out. The warriors had to climb over the bodies of their fallen comrades and enemies to meet the next wave; Torio could see frenetic bursts of light as spells were being flung by both sides. Patches of pervading darkness would plague the valley only to be rebuffed by searing beams of blessed light. The ground was pockmarked from blasts of spells.

There were still a great many number of avorals above, battling fiercely with the horned devils in the skies. As Torio watched, a pair plummeted to the ground, still locked together in a grapple, feathered and leathery wings intertwined. The lupinal archers had now pulled out their swords, having run out of arrows and not wanting to risk firing towards their friends. Prince Talisid had waded into the battle, his mighty roar sending devils scurrying back until their generals forced them forward again to press the attack.

And right in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by his two pit fiend generals, was Geryon, swinging his dark greatsword with a maniacal glee. Any guardinal that managed to slip past the two massive fiends was instantly cut down by Geryon's sword, their screams seeming to echo more loudly in the valley than all the other cries.

Torio's knees nearly buckled at the sight before her. Fear gripped her, seized her, devoured her; it was the incapacitating, yawning maw of deep terror that snarled its way up from the depths of some primal part of her and urged her to turn, flee, run. _Survival instincts at their finest._ She urged her feet to take a step forward, but her body would not obey...

_The path before you either leads home, to Sand...or it leads to death. Either way is a destination; would you rather spend the rest of your existence caught in between?_

Whether they were her own thoughts or not, she was able to lift her foot and place it in front of her. That single step seemed to instantly calm the raging terror that clawed at her; it released her, and she steadily made her way down into the valley. She could hear the crunch of grass beneath her feet despite the dissonance of battle around her; creatures would turn, slavering, snarling, to swipe at her, rend her in two, swallow her whole, only to shy back, whimpering. A path began peeling back in front of her; guardinals looked at her in confusion, in wonder, devils scrambled over each other and into the waiting claws of their foes to get away from her. A few voices called out her name, and some of the lupinals were even fighting to get to her in a panic, struggling through waves of devils to protect the small woman walking calmly through a raging battle. Her field of vision narrowed hazily until only the monstrously swaying half-man, half-snake was in her focus.

The pit fiends turned as she broke through to where Geryon stood. Yellow eyes stared at her, brightly lit by some brilliant, white light washing over the scene...after a moment, Torio realized it was coming from the blade in her hand. She hesitated only a moment before reversing its grip, striding straight behind Lord Geryon, the deposed Lord of the Fifth. There were no time for expositions or traded words; for once in her life, she cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Her eyes closed and a small whimper escaped her lips as she drove the blade downward into Geryon's back, where slithering coils met flesh

The minute her sword pierced the devil's body it was as though a warm muffling blanket dropped over the entire valley. Every guardinal, fiend, every living creature seemed to know it and there was a simultaneous, unspoken pause as heads whirled in their direction. Warriors were locked together and frozen mid-strike, seemingly unaware of each other. Avorals and horned devils landed gracelessly in the mud, holding each other as if in a dance - a multitude of colored eyes staring in shock at the scene before them.

In the silence, dripping as if in slow motion, single droplets of black blood was falling into the muddy puddles of the trampled ground. The clear, splashing sound appeared to resonate in the valley and beyond, a simple crystalline note.

The enchanted rapier trembled in Torio's gasp and the soul inside the blade seemed to give a sigh of satisfaction which was felt and not heard and the whole of Amoria seemed to sag all at once. The protective white light that was once imbued on the blade dissipated.

Suddenly, an icy dark energy shot up the steel and into Torio's arm. The chilling grip wound its way over her shoulder and began creeping up her neck and down her chest, slowing her blood as Geryon turned and stared at her with the full depth of his power. His large eyes drew her into his pupils until there was nothing but dark, and falling and he was going to drag her back to the Hells if he went and...

At that moment, a familiar voice screamed, "Torio!" - a voice full of panic and anguish and the spell was broken. From out of nowhere, Chaksa was charging at the two pit fiends now descending upon the small human with a ferocious rapidness; even Prince Talisid had seemingly forgotten his own danger and was rushing through the crowds of devils, his sword upraised...

The sky was suddenly blacked out as two hulking forms loomed over her, their claws descending much faster than she would have thought such large creatures could have moved. She gasped for breath; the icy frozenness stealing over her throat constricted it until she could hardly breathe, and her free hand flew up, her eyes squeezing shut as she grasped her throat, trying to suck in a breath and knowing that she was going to die, regardless

Her fingers found a string of small, rounded beads that shifted slightly under her touch, humming protectively; they were hot to the touch, nearly burning her fingers, and she grasped at them, everything seeming to freeze for a hairsbreadth of time...

Ghero's prayer beads.

She had forgotten they were even there. But what in the hells would a string of beads do? Her arm was already seizing up under the gripping spell that spread through her...

_You're going to die anyway, Torio. You might as well give it a try._

She pulled them with a snap! from her neck, the tough, twisted chord cutting into her skin before it finally gave, and flung them upwards, beads slipping from the broken twine and whizzing apart at a surprising speed...they seemed to fly with almost a conscious purpose, towards the trio of fiendish faces that were bending over her...

The golden beads all exploded in a flash of light so bright and so pure that even the guardinals had to duck and close their eyes. The two pit fiends twisted horribly in the beams which cut through them more readily than blades of metal; their skin peeled away, burning from the inside out and their wordless bellows of agony and rage seemed mere harmless whispers in the wash of brilliance. The rapier snapped in half and Torio fell away from Geryon, landing on her back in the mud and blood, still half paralyzed and staring up at the sky. The clouds overhead were clearing and patches of calm blue could be seen peaking out.

With Geryon's power weakening in Amoria as the Hells began reclaiming their prodigal devil, Elysium seemed to awake; the ground beneath Geryon gave a mighty tremble, tilting, and a great gaping wound opened up. Devils began sliding in the slick mud towards the sinking, swallowing ground, scrabbling uselessly at the grass. Avorals were swooping down, grabbing at guardinals being pulled in and even as a pair of winged guardinals made to grab at Torio's hand, Geryon gave a final vicious twist of his body, wrapping his poisonous tail around her still form and dragging her through the dirt towards the infinite black hole.

Torio slipped through the mud, a hoarse cry tearing from her throat as her arms twitched and shook, the muscles spasming as they fought against the chilling paralysis; the fiend's tail held her low around the hips, and if she could just get to the hilt of her kris...

Her legs were useless; they barely twitched as she tried to kick free, and one hand clawed helplessly at the ground, making fingernail furrows in the thick mud while her other hand wrapped around the hilt of the small curved blade still stuck through her belt and attempted to pull it free; the devil's muscular, bunching tail held it fast against her, and her fingers began twitching, freezing claw-like around the handle. She began wiggling it desperately, attempting to cut it loose, cut into the tail, do anything at all, the crumbling, sinking hole stretching before her...as her feet began to go over, losing their contact with the ground, she let out a frantic, half-panicked scream, terror seizing on her, making her mindless, thoughtless, as she pulled as hard as she could on the hilt of her blade.

And then it stopped.

The swallowing blackness slowed to an oily crawl, the creatures falling with in frozen above the void, their faces fixed in a near perpetual anguish, their reclamation inevitable. Time had been slowed, nearly stopped entirely. There was a spin to the eye of the void, slow but steady. Outside of this frame of existence, the speed of that spiral would be terrifying. Here, it was barely perceivable; quiet, quaint, irrelevant. Yet it would claim hundreds of devils today, and soon her.

The voice of Mephasm spoke to break a silence that seemed like centuries. "Geryon denied victory," It said, "and a devil dead. Two bargains fulfilled with one single stroke." He floated upon the blackness, impervious to its clutches, and pulled up alongside her, watching her pull futilely at the blade, "And now I would make a third. I have stopped time for you so that you may consider a second bargain: for your freedom."

Torio hung, her feet dangling over the edge of the great void, her fingers still sinking desperately into the ground, grasping at mud and dirt and anything else that might slow her down. She stared up at Mephasm, breathing hard, her knuckles painfully white around the hilt of her kris.

"Do you never get tired of deals, devil?" The words came out practically in a sob; her eyes blazed up at him. "What do you want, in exchange for my freedom?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her throat constricted with fear and frustration.

"I never tire, Torio Claven, of my own nature, nor do I dare try and contain it," Mephasm spoke calmly and truthfully. "A devil does not fear himself as a human does; he is granted power to use to an end and he does so."

He drew closer still to her. His chilling, sweet breath surrounded her neck like a noose as he whispered into her ear his price. "Your freedom I will give if you kill the love of your former love. Nivarra." His cool breath drew nearer still; his next words were like sharpened ice against her neck, "Agree now, and you are freed. Fail later, and you will suffer in full the eternity of bizarre torment that awaits in the planes you so rightly deserve."

Torio stiffened, her blood running cold; her fear was instantly banished back to the depths of her humanity, and she pressed her mouth together firmly.

_Nivarra_.

So, now she had a name. And it seemed to make it all the more real, that Sand seemed to no longer be hers; it was no longer some far off creature on a far off plane that had snared her far off lover. It was a real flesh and blood woman; a name insinuated a measure of importance in the universe, and she had one. And she had _him_. _Former love. _The words stabbed through her more effectively than Mephasm's chilling breath, and there was a cold, resolute light in her eyes; fail and suffer later, or deny it and suffer now, either way, the hells seemed bent on claiming her.

She nodded, once. "I agree."

"A second bargain between is now struck, Torio Claven." He extended a skeletal hand and place it on her shoulder. His long fingers wrapped around her exposed skin and grabbed hold of the joint. His touch was firm and oddly gentle, like the hand of an angry but concerned parent upon a misguided child.

Geryon's hold was broken. Mephasm gave her a final piercing stare. "Remember," he said amidst the hold in time, "you are not free until you have done as you promised. Until then you dangle across that pit. If you should break this agreement, no one - not even myself - can save you."

After that, it was all a blur of motion; she was able to move once again, the creeping cold paralysis that had plagued her limbs suddenly gone. She flew backwards, skidding across the slickened blood soaked mud as a resounding _pop!_ announced time returning to its normal frenetic pace. Sounds crashed around her ears; the roaring of guardinals, the crumbling and shaking of the earth beneath her, the screams and howls of devils as they fell into the blackened pit that gaped below her...Geryon's thrashing tail flailed, writhed, and disappeared over the edge, the howling, furious sound of his voice echoing louder than everything combined, reverberating through the battle field.

And suddenly, furred and feathered arms were picking her up, surprisingly gentle in their frantic rush to her side. She was lifted up, carried through the crowds and the battlefield until they were at the edge of the field, on the lip of the black pit. Already, the earth was rolling and rumbling, reforming but the ground here would never be fully healed. It would always be a scar upon the pastoral idyllic landscape of Amoria, a reminder in the heavens of the closeness of the hells.

Torio was laid upon a torn cloak and the crowd of guardinals opened as Prince Talisid approached. He kneeled at her side, the great lion seemingly humbled at the sight of the small human. But before he could speak, Saeldur was already running down the hill, his long dark hair streaming out behind him and he practically threw himself at Torio, wrapping his arms around her shoulder, half sobbing, half laughing and completely unable to speak for sheer relief.

Torio sagged against the cloak beneath her, relief sudden and overpowering as it washed through her entire body; even the very tips of her hair had seemed clenched in fear and terror, and now every inch of her merely went limp, lying flaccid against the ground. Her eyes shut for a moment, one arm reaching up and pressing lightly against Saeldur's back.

The rumbling stopped.

She could hear banners still snapping in the breeze, the shuffle of creatures pressing closer around them, far off shouts and last minute commands being given to the hastily re-organizing squadrons. Immediately around her, all was silent, save for Saeldur's ragged, relieved voice. She opened her eyes, wanting to laugh, wanting to lay there and never get up again. _And a glass of wine wouldn't be bad, about now... C_ountless of them looked back down at her, and she turned her head slightly to meet the golden eyed gaze of Prince Talisid. "Does this count as a victory, then, Your Majesty?" she asked lightly.


	28. Chapter 28

**Volume 3, Chapter 28 – Sand: Fate and Future**

When Nivarra returned, Sand was waiting; the deep blue robes hung in decadent layers of multi-textured fabric, the inner coat hitting just below his knees where the boots rose, while the outer coat fell almost to the floor. She nodded approvingly, removing her cloak from her shoulders while the maidservant rushed to get her out of her overdress and into the evening gown laid out for her. "You look passable."

She was ready quickly, the serving girl's fingers flying over her hair and pinning it all on the top of her head. The gown went on, a few bits of ornate jewelry, and then she was slipping a thick velvet cloak over her shoulders. She walked to the door, where the guard held it, and cocked an eyebrow at Sand. "Well? We're on, slave."

They met her father at the front door; he was dressed in an elaborate, brocaded tunic and knee boots, and he held an expression of barely checked impatience as he slipped into the carriage waiting for them, the doorman gesturing both Sand and Nivarra inside. There was the crack of a whip, and then the carriage rolled forward, moving through the streets, the lanterns being lit by lamplighters as the sun sank in the horizon to the west.

The carriage ride was short; they were soon being hustled out once again, and up towards the doorway of a tall, imposing tower, reaching at least seven stories high into the evening sky. A hooded, cloaked figure stood at the door, and opened it as they approached.

"Welcome."

Sand followed a step behind Nivarra as she walked through the front doors and the front hall. A tall crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, candelabras lined the walls; the tiny lights scintillating on the carpeted floor. Large landscape paintings and portraits lined the walls, the gold leaf frames shining dully in the candlelight. Servants were moving silently among the guests, holding up trays of drink and food. A large ornate curving staircase curled up towards the second floor, where more voices could be heard. There were more robed figures than not and the whole place practically dripped of magic. Nearly everyone present was human. He could feel the arcane power crawling up his spine, a definite humming that was as insidious as the air he breathed. _ Which one of these mages would be his contact? _ He could almost feel the weight of his small bundle of parchment tucked against his body. He inched closer to Nivarra, keeping his eyes lowered but alert.

Nivarra surreptitiously slipped her arm through his as they moved into the robed crowd; a few of the figures stepped forward to greet them, and she was careful to introduce him as their 'household wizard.' It was obvious that everyone knew exactly where Sand stood in the household hierarchy, and yet the well dressed mages and wealthy personages merely smiled, greeted Sand politely, and wished them well at the dinner.

Most of the robed figures merely watched them as they moved around the room. Lord Dornan did most of the talking; whenever Nivarra attempted to ingratiate herself into a conversation, he would coolly but politely maneuver her back out of it, and while she kept her outward exterior calm, it was obvious that she was beginning to anger from it.

A plethora of people poured in through the front door in the next hour, most of them robed, some not. There was one Halfling mage that seemed to stand out in the crowd, and he spoke to no one, standing off to the side as people seemed to pass him by, ignoring him completely.

A male spellcaster interposed himself in front of Nivarra and Sand as she was turning them from her father, intent on moving off into the crowd. "Nivarra, my dear. You look lovely, as always." He bent over her hand as she extended it, and then eyed Sand curiously. "And this is your prize from Neverwinter?"

"The very same." Nivarra was completely transformed, her smile gracious and her voice soft and demure. "This is Sand; his was the source of the information that Lord Biren passed to your masters, Kryten."

The human, surprisingly, nodded at Sand politely. "I've heard of you, Sand. This isn't your first stay in Luskan, is it?"

Sand gave Nivarra a quick glance before replying, "No, I spent a time, many years ago studying with the Hosttower of the Arcane. It seems as though fate has brought me back." He deftly snagged a wineglass from a passing servant. "And...Master Kryten, is it? Are you originally from Luskan?"

Nivarra had a frozen, slight smile on her face, her eyes fixed on Sand for a moment. _He studied with the Hosttower...?_

Kryten snorted, and shook his head. "Alas, no." His mouth twitched into a smile. "I was actually born in Neverwinter...irony of all ironies." His eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "So you were one of Nasher's spies? You're the talk of the tower, elf; they can't seem to stop plotting on how they're going to use you once Dornan is properly established."

Nivarra's voice was slightly chilled. "That, of course, will be up to my father and me, yes?"

Kryten waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, of course you'll have your say in the matter, my dear. Don't worry yourself over it; I'm sure if they try to go over your head you'll simply finagle them between your legs."

A robed woman passing by them nearly choked on her drink as she overhead the comment, and there were a few snickers scattered behind them, all which were icily silenced as Nivarra's head swiveled to glare at them. A small dinner bell was rung, and the majority of the crowd began moving off into a small side room. Nivarra tugged on his arm sharply, and said, nearly hissing, "Let's find our seats."

Nivarra practically tugged him over to the head table. Dornan was seated towards the middle, Nivarra to his right and Sand to her right. The room was cast in an orangey light from the numerous candles; the muted sounds of hush speaking droned in the air. The silverware before them was actually made of mithril and Sand raised an eyebrow, impressed. The Hosttower dined with the best cutlery, apparently.

He realized his heart hadn't stopped its rapid beating since he stepped inside the tower. He gazed around at the various faces gathered. _ What did they have in store for him?_ He hated not knowing, not being able to be prepared. It was the uncertainty that probably made him the most nervous. He could take Nivarra's 'affections'; he could take Dornan's potion making; he could probably even take the mindless physical labor - but not knowing where he would be or what he would be doing an hour from now?

The stress was gnawing him from the inside out. He took a quick sip of the wine and glanced at Nivarra, hoping to read something from her expression.

The food was extravagant; her father was deep in conversation with the man to his left, and she glanced at Sand. The elf was watching her covertly, and she arched a brow at him. Nivarra was about to open her mouth to question his strange expression, when a voice on the other side of Sand interrupted.

"So you're the spy."

The halfling was seated on Sand's right, his golden eyes gleaming from underneath a shock of golden-reddish hair. There was an almost indecipherable dusting of freckles across his squat, rounded nose when the candlelight flickered across his face a certain way. The halfling took in Sand's appearance curiously. "You gave Lord Biren quite a bit of information, spy," he said evenly. "It makes me wonder what else you might know..." Here his eyes flicked to Nivarra's face briefly, "...that you might not be telling us."

Nivarra's voice floated past Sand's ear. "I'm sure you would have to speak to my father about that," she said demurely, chasing bits of food around her plate.

"I'm talking to the wizard, now, Lady," the halfling said; his voice was polite, but there was an edge to it that made Nivarra suck in her breath discreetly. The halfling's eyes fixed back on Sand. "My name is Vergo," he said amiably. "And despite the facade, wizard, I get to decide whether the Hosttower will keep you, or discard you." He glanced over at Nivarra's face on the other side of him. "And your lovely mistress, there."

He then turned and forked a slender piece of fish. "Dig in; they've made this dinner especially for you."

Sand pierced a piece of some rare vegetable with his fork. "Well met, then, Master Vergo. I feel very privileged then, to be the guest of honor at such a dinner. Are representatives from all four Towers here? Do you serve one of them or do you serve the Overmage himself?" He chewed his food for a moment, buying himself more time. "I certainly do hope the Hosttower can find some use for me." He paused, then added smoothly, "And of course, I do hope you see the value in having my mistress as well."

Vergo glanced over at Sand as his large hand reached out for his wineglass. "Of course you hope that. Everyone hopes that the Hosttower will find favor with them." He took a drink of wine, leaning back in his chair contentedly. "As for me, you'll find out more once I decide whether you're worth our time or not." The halfling grinned suddenly. "Although I'm sure your Lady knows enough as it is."

Nivarra said, coolly, "He's an emissary from the Hosttower of the Arcane. Cutlass Island." She gestured around the table. "Others here are all representatives for not only the four towers themselves, but of the varying degrees of power and political intrigues found in such places." Her voice carries a warning note. "We have many eyes on us tonight, Wizard."

"So you do," said Vergo pleasantly. "We're all extremely curious about you, Sand of Neverwinter." His voice lowered slightly. "Have I heard correctly that you were Torio Claven's _lover_ before you were captured? That she was _with_ you?"

Next to Sand, Nivarra's fork slid noisily across her plate as her fingers clenched.

Sand very pointedly ignored Nivarra for a moment and focused his attention on the halfling. "Well, it pleases me then that the Arcane Brotherhood is allowing in non-humans to their ranks. It wasn't too long ago that non-humans were practically killed on sight in Luskan." He cut through a piece of tender meat, resting his fork and knife on the elegant china for a second as he turned to Vergo. "Yes. Torio and I were lovers. Note the use of the past tense. I'm with the Lady Nivarra now."

Vergo smiled humorlessly. "Times are changing, master elf," he said quietly. "It was not long ago that you yourself were apprenticed to the Towers, was it not?" The halfling took swallow of wine. "The Overmage realizes the folly of letting powerful creatures slip through his grasp; though you know as much as I do that '_we_' have to work nearly twice as hard to be rendered the same acknowledgement as our human counterparts in this fair city." He clucked his tongue, glancing over Nivarra's shoulder at Dornan. "While some receive acknowledgement without lifting a finger."

He cleared off the last remnants of his dinner from his plate, and sat back, patting his stomach contentedly. "There are many here who would be interested in Claven's whereabouts, past tense or no, Sand of Neverwinter. A few mages in this room, even, have dedicated some signifigant time to tracking her down." He eyed Sand with an almost amused smile on his lips, his rounded, youthful, freckled face a shocking contrast to the cold light in his golden eyes. "You seem to have been less that straightforward when asked about her whereabouts in the past, but we have ways in the Hosttower of delving farther into your mind than you thought possible. Where ever she is, that knowledge will soon be ours."

"I myself would be very interested in gaining access to that knowledge." Nivarra practically purred.

"I'm sure you would, my dear." Someone rang the small dinner bell again, and their plates were almost instantly replaced with small desserts, rounded tubes of pastry filled with a cold, frozen cream, slices of fruit and thick chocolate sauce poured over them. Vergo sighed happily. "As long as I'm fed like this I'll never regret the Hosttower's methods," he said almost jovially. "What man wouldn't sell his soul for such treatment?"

Dessert went by quickly. It was announced that all guests were expected to retire to an adjoining "room", which, instead of a comfortable study, turned out to be a small room with a raised dais in the center...one lone, single chair sitting atop it, waiting patiently, positioned high above the others that were neatly arranged around it in a circle. Nivarra's arm tightened around Sand's for a moment, and then she whispered, "I believe that seat is reserved for you."

Sure enough, the human mage Kryten approached them. "Lady Nivarra, if I may misappropriate your servant for a moment? Sand...follow me." And he turned walking up the few steps to the top of the dias, where he stood, placing his hand on the back of the chair...and waiting.

Sand stared at the chair and time seemed to stop.

He began walking forward towards the dais; each step seeming to take an eternity and each footfall landing with a fate-sealing thud that resonated within his pointed ears. All eyes were on him - brown eyes, blue eyes, gray eyes, green eyes, red eyes... all very different eyes and yet all the same. All eyes had the same cruel, curious glint, a flash of hunger for knowledge, a disquieting want of _him_. His legs felt like lead, it felt like he was in a nightmare and was trying to flee but only he couldn't.

The seat was in a position of honor but it was a Luskan honor, an honor from the Arcane Brotherhood and an honor no living soul should ever want. But it was being forced upon him and he was walking towards it. Too soon was he before the chair, too soon did Kryten gently push him down to the seat, too soon was he turned and faced the sea of pernicious faces. Sand gripped the armrests tightly for a moment then looked up at the Kryten, expectantly.

Kryten's voice boomed across the small room. "Ladies, gentlemen...and Vergo..." There was a snickering, ripple of laughter, but the halfling merely smiled placidly from his seat. "We have here, before you, a celebrated hero of Neverwinter, one of Nasher's pet spies, a man privy to knowledge that few are afforded. You are all, of course, already aware of the information that the Red Dragon Merchant Company passed on to us via Lord Biren; we now have the elf before us, and his mind, practically an open book, for all to read." Nivarra's face could be seen in the crowd, her expression one of slight panic and confusion...

Kryten incanted a spell, and his hands shot out...

_...towards Nivarra. _

The spell thudded into her body, and she seemed to slump slightly forward, her outraged, fearful expression changing into one of slack blankness. "Step forward, Nivarra."

Dornan's voice could be heard through the shifting mages. "Kryten, this is unpreceden-"

"Silence."

Vergo's voice was light, hardly carrying any of the force that Kryten's did, and yet the entire room fell into complete soundlessness, except for the sound of Nivarra's halting footsteps. "Nivarra," said Kryten, when she stood before the dais, her eyes wide and unblinking, "You've kept some things from us, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"You've instructed your elf to withhold information from your father and Lord Biren, haven't you?"

"Yes."

The crowd murmured in contention, but Vergo's voice once again rippled through the air, commanding silence. He received it.

Kryten placed a firm hand on Sand's shoulder from behind him. "Command your elf, now, to tell us everything. Everything that's happened from the trial, when we lost Claven as a contact...and onward."

Nivarra's eyes flickered to Sand's face. "Wizard," she said evenly, her voice dull. "Tell them everything."

Sand shot Nivarra a panicky look. She was utterly dominated by Kryten and because of the geas, Kryten could control him indirectly through her.

"Everything? From the trial?" Sand's mind raced. The duration of the _Dominate Person _spell was in _days _for a high level mage like Kryten. Even if he professed every minute insignificant detail from his time in Neverwinter, the spell would outlast his store of useless information.

And then he'd have to get into the useful stuff.

The geas was coiling tightly in his chest, demanding a release. He could feel his heart beating erratically, whether from the geas or fear, he was not certain. Sand took a deep breath, and taking the command to be literal, began, "Well after the trial, Torio called for a trial by combat which of course, irked me to no end since we had won the trial based upon the evidence that I had collected..."

_"...I visited Meaghan at the temple of Tyr that night after the dwarf Khelgar was done ranting and raving. He was quite loud you know, I could hear him from several streets over. Actually helped me find the place..."_

_"...and we had hardly begun celebratory the victory over Lorne when that befuddled old sage Aldanon had to go and get himself kidnapped..."_

_"...I'm assuming that's when Torio was arrested and forced into serving Neverwinter. They placed a geas of sorts on her but I didn't actually see her again until..."_

_"...because the Twins were part of the City Watch and all, we ended up having to defend Lord Tavorick from demon attacks. Let me tell you, demons are the most..."_

_"...so that's when we found out that the Tome of Iltkazar had been stolen from Ruathym by Garius..."_

_"...and don't even get me started on gnomes and Wendersnavens. We actually went traipsing through the countryside to look for them and got attacked by orcs along the way..."_

Sand coughed, his throat dry. "Could I have some water please?"

Kryten patted Sand's shoulder almost comfortingly; Vergo was watching Sand with almost a look of boredom. "Of course. Someone send one of the servants for some water for our hero of Neverwinter?" There was the sound of scuffling feet in the darkness at the back of the room. While they waited, the mages conversed quietly with each other; some of them stood and left the room momentarily, others simply leaned back and watched the elf. Nivarra was still standing in front of them, her posture slouched, her eyes dull. Her knees were wobbling from balancing on her heeled slippers for such an extended period of time, and Kryten said absently, "Someone get a chair for the girl before she falls over."

A chair was pushed under Nivarra's knees, and she sank into it, resuming her blank staring up at Kryten's face.

A servant appeared at Sand's side, pressing a goblet of cold water into his hands. "Is everyone seated again?" A few shuffling forms slithered into the rooms, and Kryten nodded, tapping Sand on the shoulder. "Tell him to continue, Nivarra. Tell him that we want specifics on the Knight Captains for now...what have they done, what they're doing, what they're planning. What's so special about them."

Nivarra's eyes flicked onto Sand's face again, and sweat beaded on her forehead for a moment as her expression became contorted with effort. Kryten's fingers tightened on Sand's shoulder, and his voice was low and dangerous. "Nivarra..."

She gave a soft, low gasp, and her eyes faded dully once more. She repeated all of Kryten's words to Sand, commanding him.

Sand watched Nivarra. She was trying to resist the spell and he prayed she would soon. He took a long drink of the cool water, considering where he could pick up his story.

"Well the Knight Captains are aasimar twins, born and raised in West Harbor. Very hardy folk with a distinct sort of swampy smell to them. I could pick it out the moment I first met them in their Uncle's tavern. Actually he's not even their uncle, who is a half-elf. Their mother was killed over twenty years ago by an attack on the village and they were raised by an Elven ranger who is now their foster father. The uncle is actually their foster father's half brother. Are you following me?" Sand realized his introduction of the Twins made very little sense but he ploughed ahead anyway. The less they made sense of anything he was saying, the better.

"They have been collecting pieces for a githyanki silver sword, which is supposed to help them defeat the King of Shadows. At least that's what the gith said and who knows what she knows half the time, you know? What's special about them is they have a suicidal tendency to jump into battle the moment it shows up with nary a concern for their own well-being. The girl is a fantastic archer. The boy a bard of no small charm. They're stubborn like mules but fiercely protective of their own. That garners much loyalty from all those they meet." The geas gave a conflicting tug when he left out that Meaghan had a shard inside her chest and he realized because Nivarra's commands and intentions were different he might be able to resist spilling all his secrets a while longer. He gave a small cough and took another drink of water. "They're currently rebuilding Crossroad Keep. They think Garius and the King of Shadows will strike there first, try to retake it on their way north to Neverwinter. And Luskan."

The murmuring around the room rose in volume...Vergo's eyes were glittering as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes now bright and interested; Nivarra's shoulders seemed to slump slightly, her breath coming heavy.

Kryten held up a hand, and the talking hushed slightly. "Nivarra," he said calmly. "Ask our wizard about the former Ambassador, Torio Claven. I want to know everything."

This, Nivarra seemed to fight almost more staunchly than the previous command. She inhaled raggedly, her face paling as she struggled to hold her mouth shut against the words tumbling from her mouth. "Wizard," she gasped out, "Tell us everything you know about Torio Claven."

"Ask him where he sent her."

Her eyes flashed momentarily and she seemed to give in to this command without a second thought. "Where did you send Torio Claven?"

All eyes in the room fixated on Sand, the conversations ceasing for a moment.

Sand tightened his grip on the armrest of the chair, the sweat rolling down the back of his neck as he resisted the geas. The wretched spell was building inside of him, a painful boiling pressure threatening to cause him to explode from the inside out. He glanced up at Kryten who seemed both amused and impatient.

Sand gasped, feeling the food from dinner threatening to come up and he forced it back down with another swallow of water. The throbbing was in his head now, if he resisted further it was going to start killing him slowly...

"Torio..." He inhaled sharply. "She was arrested for her false accusations against the Twins. Neverwinter put some enchantments on a bracelet, to control her, to torture her if need be. I helped with that; I was responsible for her while she was at the Keep." The headache eased as suddenly as it came and Sand spoke a little easier. "I don't know much about the reports she was writing or her contacts," he

said truthfully. He writhed in his seat for a moment. "Everything I know about her?"

Sand had a strange feeling that if Torio were here, she'd be more horrified that he was about to reveal their most intimate secrets to the Arance Brotherhood, as opposed to give up treasonous trade secrets.

"Oh gods oh gods...she likes wine from Evereska. And books. I've never met a woman who reads the way she did. She even smells like books and candlewax. The first time we made love was on a library table. She's beautiful when she's naked." Sand felt himself redden and he kept his eyes resolutely focused on a piece of cracked flagstone. "She...she likes foot rubs and she plays _As Nas _differently than I do. I think she's about 30 but I know better than to ask a human woman her age..." Sand was starting to babble but he couldn't stop himself. The geas was pushing the words out of his mouth, a jumbled, ineloquent garbled mess and he couldn't even begin to form a proper argument or homage to the woman he loved. "She likes it when I recite Elven poetry to her when we...when we..." He clapped his hand over his mouth, fighting to get some willpower back. "She knows so many languages including Drow, Netherese... Garius taught her those. He handpicked her from the streets of Luskan. She's vain, sharp and I think it still annoys her when I make fun of her clothing. And I think she loved me."

How on Toril was any of this useful? He squirmed for a bit, trying to regain his breath after the truthful barrage. "I used a _Wish_ spell to send her to the Planes. I...I don't know much about the Planes. I just wanted to send her some place where she would be safe. I honestly have no idea where she is." He slumped in his seat, feeling exhausted and covered his face with his hands. "Oh the dear girl is going to kill me if she finds out..."

There were intermittent snickers, smothered laughter, whispered discussions; Nivarra's face was harder than iron, her eyes blank, her fingers curled into fists on her lap.

Vergo's voice floated through the air. "The Planes... a Wish spell." The halfling pushed from his chair, striding forward, his eyes narrowed. "You're quite a powerful spellcaster, to be able to spell a woman away to the planes at will. And the...personal knowledge you have of such prominent figures in Neverwinters social structure...the Knight Captains in particular, interest me." The halfling smirked. "The Ambassador as well, but although we now have at least _some_ clue as to where she's at, it will take us an inordinate amount of time to track her down."

Vergo now stood level with Nivarra's chair, his head even with hers. He placed a hand on her shoulder; she didn't move. "You seem to notice little details rather well, wizard. As we've so expertly heard." The dry note was hard to miss in Vergo's voice. "Now, I would like to hear what our wizard thinks...and knows...of our Lady Nivarra, and her father, Lord Dornan."

"Blaggart!" Dornan's voice roared through the near silent room like thunder, and there was a shuffling of feet as the man was apparently restrained by a handful of mages. "You've not the right, Vergo!"

"You came here tonight, my Lord," said the halfling, simply. "You placed yourself in our hands. Surely you must expect us to know everything about you in order to allow you into our ranks." Vergo's eyes flicked to Krytan, and the man repeated Vergo's order to Nivarra.

Her face contorted almost painfully, and she gasped; her eyes snapped to Kryten's face suddenly, bright and clear and unstoppably furious as she finally managed to escape the _Dominate _spell's grasp. "No," she said, sharply.

The room was deathly silent before the mages around them erupted in enraged shouting.

Sand sunk lower in his seat, peeking his eyes above his fingers and watching the chaos around him. The geas was thankfully quiet in his chest, like a blastglobe lying dormant, waiting for the right activation. He glanced from Kryten to Vergo and back down to Nivarra and Dornan. For the moment, everybody seemed to have forgotten about him, too busy arguing amongst themselves. Nivarra looked like she could personally strangle every single person in the room and Dornan looked suitably indignant. Sand sunk a little lower and closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else.

Vergo turned, his eyes meeting Sand's briefly, before he walked towards Dornan. The mages that had been holding the struggling Lord released him, and the halfling smiled cordially, extending a small, stubby hand. "Lord Dornan," he said formally. "May I extend the Hosttower's warmest invitations? There is much still needed to be finalized, but the information you have brought to light is worthy of reward."

Dornan shrugged out of the grasps of the cloaked men that held him, and stared down at the halfling for a moment; he seemed caught somewhere between anger and wild triumph, and after a long, hideously tense silence, he reached forward and grasped the halfling's hand.

There was a general release of held breaths around the rooms, although much angry muttering could still be heard as multi-colored gazes flashed towards Nivarra's still form. Kryten waved his hand, releasing her from the dominance spell; she instantly came alive, launching herself forward, and only Kryten's quick hand caught her wrist before she slapped him full across the face. "You bastard..." she hissed. "If you ever do that to me again..."

"Nivarra!" Dornan strode forward; his face was flushed, pleased, angry, nervous...fearful. "We are due to leave, Nivarra. Collect the wizard and let's be on our way."

Vergo's voice floated from the back of the room. "The elf is now on call, Lord Dornan. When we summon him, you will bring him to us."

Dornan's voice was clipped in his reply. "Whatever you wish, Master Vergo."

"Father!" Her face was cold. "We will not be used-"

Dornan strode forward, yanking her close, and they commenced a heated, whispered argument, cloaked and robed forms closing around them. Kryten moved to where Vergo stood, bending down and whispering something in to halfling's ear; for a moment, Sand was alone.

A hooded figure approached the dais amidst the chaos, and murmured low under its breath, "It's been a long night, hasn't it, wizard? What do you think of these humans, after all this?" The individual's face could hardly be seen through the shadows cast by the hood; only a faint gleam of grey eyes flashed from its depths.

Sand kept his eyes scanning the audience but his hands were already inside the his robe, pulling out the stack of parchments. He shoved them surreptitiously into the contact's waiting hands, saying flatly, "I think at the moment, I'd rather be with elves or even dwarves, than here..." But the figure was already gone, disappeared into the crowds. Sand sighed. He had done what he could to help the slaves and servants.

Now he hoped he would survive to see some benefit from it. He watched with tired eyes as everyone in the room determined his fate but not a single person caring about his future.

Dornan was bowing to Vergo, his fingers grasping Nivarra tightly around her upper arm. He practically dragged her from the room, and her eyes flashed over her shoulder as she glanced back a Sand, summoning him with merely a look.

They were on the street a few moments later, their carriage being called while they waited. Nivarra wrenched her arm from Dornan's grasped, and primly slipped it through Sand's, her face a mask of calm. Dornan hissed, under his breath, "We will continue this conversation, _daughter_, when we reach the estate." The carriage pulled up, and the gate guard was opening the door for them; they all quickly climbed inside, and they were off, dragging serenely through the streets once again.


	29. Chapter 29

**Volume 3, Chapter 29 – Torio: Domus**

The mighty Prince threw back his head and laughed, the joyous sound breathing life into Elysium once again. "Yes, Torio. I think it does." He glanced around. "Have the Duchess Callisto open the portals; let us retrieve our hostages and their rescuers. Heal the wounded, attend to the dead." His gaze fell back upon the human and it was kind but sad at the same time. "You can no longer stay here, can you?"

Saeldur sat up, sniffing confusedly. "What do you mean, my liege?"

The leonal reached down and with a grace that belied his large, powerful hands, lifted her sleeve to reveal the skin where Mephasm had touched her. Glowing with a bluish light was an ornate glyph on her skin that seemed to writhe with a separate life as they all gazed at it. It seemed to take the shape of a slithering serpent before settling back down into an unreadable infernal script. "You made a bargain with a devil and it hasn't been fulfilled yet."

Torio let out a small, imperceptible sigh, sitting up completely; she turned and looked down at her own shoulder, to where she could see the glyph writhing against her skin. "Yes," she said quietly. "It was that or be flung down into the hells along with Lord Geryon. My choices were somewhat limited, I assure you." She glanced up at the faces surrounding her, and suddenly felt the first yawning pangs of loss; odds were that once she left, she would never be able to return to Elysium again. Her kind never ended up in places such as this when they passed into death, and the Wish spell that sent her here...she had received two of them in as many days, when most people never received such a powerful boon in their entire lives. There'd be no such good fortune in her future again.

She knew, underneath the cajoling maybes and what ifs that she had always intended to return to Toril, but now that that decision had been rather irrevocably made for her...

Her eyes fell on Saeldur, and softened. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Prince Talisid gave her a deep bow. "We owe our existence to you, little human. I am sure our historian here will record your great deeds for the generations to come to remember you by."

Saeldur was blinking very rapidly. He took one long breath and seemed to square his shoulders. "It's all right, Torio. You had no choice. I'd rather know you were alive in Toril than..." He trailed off and let the thought remain unexpressed. A small smile stole across his lips. "Besides, now I can write anything about you that I want. But you will have to tell me about ... that bit of magic you did on the field. How in all of the Planes did you _do _that?"

He helped her up, supporting her weight easily. "I think we've moved most of the wounded back to the encampment. Are you wounded at all?" They began climbing up the grassy hill, the elf walking slowly.

Torio's mouth twisted in a slight smile; she leaned on Saeldur's weight despite the fact that she could have more than likely walked on her own, arching her arm up around his neck. "Aches and bruises, nothing that won't heal on its own. I escaped surprisingly scratch free, all things considering." They trod up the hill back towards the encampment, the hordes of the guardinal army following, spilling over the lip of ground and rushing back into the camp; some of them were cheering, clapping each other on the back; many were embracing, and some were merely sitting, dazed-eyed and weak with relief, shaking their heads and gazing at the blasted ground that stretched over the field of battle.

"I'll tell you all about it," she said after a moment, glancing up into his face, her voice light and belying the constriction in her throat. "If you can find me something..._anything, _to drink." A few of the campfires had been poked back into life, and soon the smell of cooking food filled the air. In the distance, there was a dull, dim glow on the horizon..._the sun was rising._

Saeldur laughed. "I do believe we still have that flask of rum... You didn't finish it off before battle, did you, you drunk?" He began leading her back towards the camp when a large furry creature practically tackled her to the ground. Dahras was soon followed by Brandobras, both looking out of breath. "Torio! You're safe, you're all right! We left Gwillikens shortly after you did, we couldn't stay away from the battle and we got here just in time to see the ending..." The lupinal was practically dancing on the spot. "You haven't seen my mother, have you? I'm sure she's fine but I haven't seen her yet. Maybe she's still helping on the battlefield." He gave her a quick hug, saying, "I'm going to go find her, see if she needs anything." Brandobras gave Torio a squeeze on the hand and followed the much larger guardinal, running to keep up.

A golden robed priestess ran up to her and touched her gently on the arm. "My Lady Torio? There is somebody asking for you... A cerivdal, Benignus. Please, hurry, milady."

Torio blinked, watching Dahras disappear through the throngs for a moment. The last time she had seen Chaksa was when the lupinal was charging towards her, her voice ringing out high and panicked...

Her head snapped back to the priestess at the mention of the cervidal's name. "Benignus? Of course...lead the way." She glanced quickly at Saeldur, an uneasy feeling clutching at her heart, and followed, the priestess drawing her through the crowds, past grinning, furred and feathered faces and equinals that nudged her shoulders with their long, lean noses as she passed.

Benignus was lying on the ground, Ghero holding his hands. There was a large, black wound right through his stomach and even as Torio watched, she could see the blackness seeming to spread. Ghero looked up at her. "Torio. Child. It's...a poison. We didn't catch it in time and now it's spreading." His look was grave and pained.

The cervidal opened an eye and gazed at her, his face smiling at the sight of her. "Oh hello lovey. Quite the dramatic turn out this time, hmm? Me in the grass, you the savior." He voice was raspy and dry. "Did you see any ruby throated river sapsuckers on your travels?"

Torio sank to her knees at the cervidal's side, shakily taking one of his hands from Ghero and clutching it in her own. The wound was terrible to look at; there were beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his skin pale and chilled. "I did," she said harshly; her voice was tight and strained, and she smiled at him, forcing the muscles in her face to comply. What was one supposed to say at times like this? Torio normally picked the most scathing, inappropriate thing she could think of, shrugging death from her shoulders like anything else, but this...

She swallowed hard. "Well, the game's afoot, my friend; you had better be simply malingering, attempting to get out of tearing down the camp. We simply will not allow you to..." She choked on the last word and pressed her mouth into a fierce line. _By gods_, but she _was_ terrible at this. Her eyes twitched at the corners, wetness gathering beneath her lids and blurring her vision. "I'll just...pick you up, and carry you to the nearest temple, shall I? Like you did me."

Benignus chuckled and coughed, a thin line of blood seeping from his mouth. "You, lovey, a tiny human? Carry me, a fat old cerivdal? Pah...better just to let me lie here." His eyes fell shut, a whimsical and peaceful smile on his lips. "Did you enjoy the strawberry?" And with that last question, he let out a long breath, his hand slipping from hers and his head rolling gently to the side.

Torio stared down at him for a moment, taking in the peacefully composed face, the slight trickle of blood...she kissed her fingers lightly and pressed them against the side of Benignus' face, wiping her eyes brusquely with her free hand.

Her eyes met Ghero's. "I'm sorry I was too late," she said unevenly. "If I had acted sooner; moved faster..._gods_..." She sucked in a deep breath, calming the rising torrent in her chest. Her mind felt slightly unhinged; it had been too long of a night, too long of a journey, and now the first creature that had happened upon her, the one who had saved her life, lay dead.

_When did you start believing things would be fair?_

She calmed herself slightly, the sort of old, frozen calm that had served her well enough in the past. "Is there anything I can do?"

Ghero took her hands in his, over the body of the cervidal. He closed his eyes, muttering a quiet prayer first and then looking at her. "No - you moved at exactly the speed you needed to and did precisely what was wanted of you. Or rather, you did exactly what you felt you needed to and saved the land that he - " The priest gestured at Benignus, looking for all the world like he was sleeping, save for the drying blood. "That he loved and cared about. Do you think a warrior like him would have found death in old age, on a bed?" He shook his head. "He died knowing that goodness had won and he couldn't have asked for anything more."

He released her hands and stood, while acolytes draped cloth over the body. Ghero looked thoughtful. "You can help bring the wounded to me. You had wanted to act sooner, and moved faster? Here is your chance."

Torio was vaguely reminded of the day she was told to carry water buckets back and forth...

...but as she watched a handful of acolytes pick up Benignus' body and carry it away, she found herself merely nodding, and turning back to the crowd, pushing herself back through the way she came. She kept walking as she reached the threshold of the camp, past a swarm of incoming guardinals that looked at her in confusion, the human woman walking back towards the field of battle. There were scattered groups of petitioners and guardinals alike carrying wounded off the field, and she simply added her hands to the effort.

It was quick work; there was no shortage of willing hands ready to help, and more than a few times she was sent back merely to bring in the bodies of the fallen, since most of those that were save-able were already up by the healers. Her mind had gone numb with the effort, exhaustion and sadness and the end of her adrenaline rush slumping down over her all at once as she trailed back and forth between the field and the healer's tents.

Brandobras sidled up beside Torio, his footsteps heavy as she began walking back to the battle field. Saeldur was busying himself with fetching food, water and bandages; the few times he had passed Torio he had given her quiet, desperate looks but had remained quiet. The sun was now high in the sky, warm but not overly hot and the halfling closed his eyes, lifting his face up and catching the rays on his cheeks and steeling himself. He took Torio's hand in his and said softly, "They still haven't found Chaksa. They say she was in the thick of it when the hole opened..."

Most of the bodies along the perimeter had been cleared and they were now moving towards the centre of the broken earth. The earth here seemed hot, scorched - it burned with a simmering angry heat at the soles of their feet as they walked carefully among broken bits of shields and swords, arrows and bows. Dahras was ahead of them, still helping to move bodies. The bodies at the centre were twisted and burned horribly, their features barely recognizable as equinal, or leonal, or lupinal.

Torio shut her eyes for a moment, cursing softly under her breath, before she glanced at Dahras; the lupinal seemed distracted, busy for the moment, and she danced lightly over the scorched earth, the blackened stone still hot beneath her booted feet. The bodies in the center were a mangled, unrecognizable mess, and yet she walked through them regardless, forcing her eyes to look, to see the details. She was never good with violent deaths; that had been Lorne's arena. She was never good with violent anything...and if it were _Chaksa_...

A lupinal stared up at her as she bent over it's body, its fur so scorched and marred that she could hardly tell if it had been any other color beforehand besides grayish black. She could see another form beneath the creature; she wriggled her arms underneath the shoulders, closing her mouth and nose against the smell, and attempted the roll the body away, her breath catching as she caught a glimpse of white fur beneath...

The body was astronomically heavy, and she cried out in a near panic. "Help!! Help me! Over here!"

As she strained to keep the body lifted up the few meager inches she had managed to lever it, she could glance down and see the slight shifting of Chaksa's chest as it rose and fell, shallowly, unevenly, her bright fur marred scarlet with blood.

Brandobras instantly scooted underneath the charred body, helping Torio lift it higher. A pair of leonals had trotted over, "What's happening?" and the halfling gestured madly underneath. "Survivor. Under…here..." He grunted with the exertion of holding the dead lupinal up and the two leonals finally took it from him.

Dahras ran over and nearly bowled Torio over again for the second time that day, his eyes wide with fear. "Mother? Mother!" He dragged her out from underneath and the extent of her wounds made the gathered guardinals all flinch. There was so much blood that it was difficult to tell where she was wounded; the fur on her back was nearly all burnt off, her legs bent at unnatural angles but for the briefest moment her eyes flickered open. "Dahras." She sighed but gripped his arm loosely. Dahras picked her up and ran back for the encampment. "Healer! We need a healer!"

Dahras had taken off so fast that he was halfway up the slope before Torio could even think of following. She took off after him, hearing Brandobras' shorter legs stumping into the ground behind her. Her vision swam in front of her eyes as she ran, feeling her short hair fly back from her head, her lungs bursting as she raced up the hill on nothing but fumes of energy still left in her.

Dahras had disappeared through the crowds, and she pushed through, reaching the healing tent breathing as hard as a landed fish, her legs shaking. "Where is she? Is she okay? Where's Dahras?"

Saeldur caught her as it looked like she was about to fall over. "Steady. She's not been poisoned or cursed or drained. That's good. The wounds are bad but not...permanent, they think. Let the healers do their work; they will get you when she is able to see you. You -" he commanded with surprisingly authority. "Need to sit and have a rest. You have already singlehandedly saved Elysium; it is time to leave the rest of the work to the others. We do not need you dying of exhaustion else your entry into my books will be terribly anti-climactic and I refuse - _refuse -_ to write a boring book."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "When the musteval came back with the message that you were safe - we...we were so relieved. I thought I had lost you. I mean..." his grin was slightly sheepish but genuine, earnest. "I know I never really _had_ you in the first place. I guess I had borrowed you, like...a library book. But still... it was...nice. So I'm afraid, darling, I am going to have to borrow you some more - your time here is running out and you have to tell me your story so I can remember you when you leave."

The elf fumbled with something from a pack and then thrust the flask of rum into her hands.

Torio's fingers closed around the flask as she stared up at him, and all of a sudden she sagged against him, pressing her face against his chest for a moment. "All right," she murmured after a moment, her voice muffled against him. "Let's sit down."

There was a grass patch behind the healing tents at the edge of the camp, and she dropped down onto it, resting her elbows on her knees. The bottle tilted against her lips, and she drank down the fiery, spicily sweet rum, feeling...if not completely recovered, as least fortified for the time being. She watched as Saeldur sat across from her, his face as haggard and exhausted looking as she herself must feel, his deep blue hair glinting in the sunlight and flashing motes of light across his eyes.

She began speaking, watching his face; detailing the meeting between Prince Talisid and Amon, her choice to go into the devil's encampment, Geryon's description...she still shuddered at the memory of his muscular tail bunching around her waist. Finding the sword, and the appearance of Mephasm...the deals made and sealed, her walk across the chaotic battlefield, the blow she had dealt the Lord of the Filth...

It seemed like she was talking about some other person, as if she had watched it all happen instead of lived through it. She kept the details of her second deal with Mephasm to herself; merely that it had saved her life. Her voice was slightly hoarse at the end of her truncated version of events, the rum nearly gone and her skin flushed as her blood ran pleasantly underneath her skin. She chuckled at Saeldur suddenly. "My part in the battle _was_ rather anti-climatic, I fear; I wasn't even there for half of it." She shook her head, and polished off the last of the rum.

"You were there for the key parts of it." Saeldur patted her knee. "No one will admit this to you, but we were losing before you appeared with that sword." His notes were a scrawled, scribbled mess - with arrows leading to other paragraphs and smudges - but it was all here and he held the notes reverently. His silver eyes looked into hers and he kissed her one final time, press his mouth full onto hers and tasting the aftermath of the battle on her lips but underneath was a certain bittersweetness... "You may not have changed me from a monstrous elf with your kisses but I will always remember you. And now everybody else will as well."

A leonal passed by and knelt down beside her respectfully. "Lady - Chaksa wishes to see you. She is awake now."

Torio looked back into Saeldur's face for a moment, her heart heavy; words failed her for the moment, and she merely studied his features, her mouth curved in a slight, regretful line. She reached out, touching his hand lightly, briefly with her own, before standing, smoothly, and brushing herself down. Her eyes caught his for a moment. "I'm rather relieved you remained an elf," she said lightly. "Na llie varna, kesir en' Toril." _Be you safe, elf of Toril. _

She turned and moved into the healing tent, following the leonal towards the back. Chaksa lay peacefully, her skin still pink-tinged from old blood, but her eyes were bright and clear as they looked at her. She moved to Chaksa's beside and knelt, hesitantly reaching for one of the furred, large hands. Her mouth twitched in a half rueful smile. "And you thought you'd leave us so easily."

The matron gave Torio a stern but bemused look. "And you thought to worry a mother by running off with the wrong crowd like that. Devils. I thought, as matron, I would have taught you better." She clucked her tongue but her features softened. "You didn't have to do that sacrifice. We could have won."

She shifted and grimaced in pain and instantly Dahras was by her side, but she lightly shook her head and continued speaking. "I hear you must depart for your world soon. The news saddens me but I understand you have no choice. It seems as though Elysium has demanded many sacrifices of you." She sat up and for a moment, looked the majestic creature she was. "When the time has come for your soul to have fled the Prime Material Plane, I will know since you are under my protection. I will seek you out and together we should seek that Prismatic dragon of yours."

Torio chuckled. "I'll look for you," she said sincerely. "And we'll go find her together. Although I can't promise she really exists." Her mouth twitched in a smile. "But I'll look with you, anyway."

She stood, squeezing the large, furred paw lightly, before releasing it. She moved to Dahras' side of the bed and slipped her arms around the lupinal, hugging him fiercely. "I couldn't have gotten anywhere without you, you know," she said quietly. "I would still be wandering aimlessly along the riverbank had you not found me."

Dahras grinned, and puffed out his chest. "I knew you were special when I started following you. And you wouldn't have continued wandering aimlessly. Somebody would have found you. Eventually." He returned the hug, crouching down so that he could embrace her fully. "You did a good job, Sister-General."

Brandobras was tugging on the bottom of her shirt. "And thank you to my savior, without whom, surely I would still be stuck in that tree. You really need to eat more, Torio. You keep sleeping through breakfast like that and you'll waste away." He had begun toying with his pipe rather determinedly, blinking back the tears. "I'll miss you."

There was a shuffling at the tent door and the Prince himself entered, looking refreshed and cleaned. "Torio - it is time. Finish your goodbyes and meet me on the outskirts of the encampment."

Torio gave them all one last look...Chaksa on the bed, and Dahras standing at her side, his large dark eyes watching her steadily. Brandobras was looking pointedly at the roof of the tent, blinking rather rapidly.

_As families go, this one's a rather strange one to latch on to, Claven_. But that wasn't quite true...they had latched rather firmly on to her.

She dropped her head forward for a moment in a slight bow; the acknowledgement of a point struck in a dueling match, or a well turned phrase in an argument...or a well played hand when dealt a single, small human from another plane...and turned wordlessly, following Prince Talisid's steps out the tentflap.

A warm, rich voice was calling out to her and then Ghero was there. He threw his arms around her, whispering, "Remember our talks. And remember Pelor's gift to you. You _can _and_ have_ changed and Pelor has blessed you. I have no more prayer beads to give you, child of Toril, but I will continue to pray for you."

Torio nodded at the priest, her throat inordinately tight as she remembered the prayer beads flashing upwards like blades of solid light, cutting into the pit fiends mercilessly. "Thank you," she said...and in a parody of her first true day on Elysium, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

The guardinals all watched her walk down to the edge of the camp, many of them calling brief goodbyes, a few reaching out to touch her as she passed. Prince Talisid was waiting for her, and she swallowed hard. "I'm ready." Her voice was steadier than she felt. "What do I have to do?"

Prince Talisid clasped his hands behind his back, staring over the fields and the skies. The sun was setting on what seemed like the longest 24 hours in Amorian history. "Answer me two questions - I seek to understand Torio and not judge. First - why did you agree to go to Geryon's camp? And secondly, what are your current thoughts on your actions at Ember?" His golden eyes turned to her. "I have been following the progress in Faerun with some interest; no doubt, like our friend Geryon was. The balance of power is shifting there and I wish to know your role in it. Answer me and then you may return home."

Torio watched the leonal as he spoke, his profile etched regally in sunlight, golden red as it sank against the horizon. "I chose to go because...strategically, it was an advantage." Her voice was rueful. "You didn't particularly need me, once the battle got underway; what could I have done by myself, against any devil on that field of battle?" Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "And we needed any advantage we could get. Pardon me for saying so, but...I didn't relish the thought of being outnumbered three to one." She sighed. "I didn't relish the thought of losing troops. We lost too many as it is, in my opinion." Her mind flashed to Benignus' eyes rolling closed.

And then there was Ember.

There had been so many reminders, images, sounds, instances... the villages on the way up the river stuck out in her mind, and she shut her eyes momentarily. "I keep seeing faces," she said quietly. "People that died, the people that I accused of the crime, the people in the courtroom...I could feel it then, the weight of what I was doing, but I had been content to bear it, to pretend that I was somehow justified." Her eyes opened. "I'm not anymore; I'm not sure if those faces will ever leave me, or if I'll ever stop seeing them in my mind, but I know I can't ignore them." She pushed her hair back from her face, her expression bleak. "What's more, I don't want to ignore them any longer...but I can't go back, now can I?" She sighed. "It's laid on me like the deepest of stains; I'll have to endure it, I suppose."

Prince Talisid nodded, taking more in from her words than she could possibly understand, his mane shifting over his shoulders. "Thank you, Torio, for your thoughts." He fell silent again, not offering reprimand nor words of sympathy, just watching the sunset until it was gone from the horizons and the stars began appearing. Finally he raised an arm and pointed in the distance. "Walk that way - face forward and do not look back. You shall come across the White Feather Bridge. As you cross it, you shall re-enter your world near the destination of your heart's desire. Farewell. You have saved my people. No words can ever fully express my gratitude."

Torio stared at the leonal for a moment, her head turning back again to look at the camp fluttering behind her.

Her eyes flicked back to Talisid's face, and she smiled. "Take care of them," she said, quite unnecessarily; but she was human, she thought wryly, and she wasn't supposed to understand such things, anyway.

She turned from the regal lion and began walking, the bridge flashing brilliant bone white and washed with gold as the sun sank in the sky. When she reached its edge, her breath caught, just for a moment, as her feet left the soil of Elysium and stepped onto stone, taking her forward...

Somewhere, halfway over the bridge, the view was spectacular. It was as though all of Amoria stretched out before her and behind her; lush hills and forests, the River beneath her feet, the stars above...

And suddenly those stars shifted and twisted sickeningly. A windy rushing was howling past her ears and she was spinning and spinning...

Two gnomes were sitting outside a tent in Port Llast when suddenly there was a loud bang and a small figure landed right in front of them, materialized out of thin air and interrupting their conversation. They looked at her curiously but were certainly not alarmed.

"Oh the wendersnaven!"

"No."

"But yes?"


	30. Chapter 30

**Volume 3, Chapter 30 – Sand: Loyal Elven Wizard**

Sand sat beside Nivarra; she sat across from her father. Her face was eerily impassive but Sand could almost feel the slight trembling of her arm in his, of barely suppressed rage. He swallowed a sigh and glanced out the small curtained window, seeing the row of houses blur past them as they made their way through the streets, the short distance to the mansion. They pulled up in front of the doors and without looking back, Dornan exited the carriage and walked swiftly into the house. Nivarra practically yanked him through the front doors, passing the guards and pulling him up to her room. Sand supposed he could try to say something comforting to her but found himself secretly delighting in the fact that she had been caught so unawares by the Arcane Brotherhood.

_Beside, Sand, she's probably just give you another smack... __His face throbbed at the memory of her abuses._

Nivarra's hand swept across the surface of her vanity as she approached it, sending bottles, small containers of cosmetics, and a few stray hairbrushes clattering across the floor. She cursed soundly, the chair soon following as she gripped the high, ornately carved back of it and threw it down onto the floor, her breath puffing in heavy, angry gasps.

She turned and stared at Sand, as if seeing him for the first time. After a long moment, she said quietly, "Father places too much trust in the Brotherhood. They will betray us, I'm sure of it; you are far more valuable to them without me holding your leash." An uncertain note of clarity struck through her voice as she spoke, and then her eyes narrowed. "We will have to perform the ritual as soon as possible; how close are you to mastering it, wizard?"

Sand studied her in the half-light of her room. Her eyes had a slightly desperate look to them. She reminded him vaguely of Torio, when she had called for the Trial by Combat, grasping at straws to win. It was precisely at moments like these, if Sand could capitalize on them, the shift of power and control would begin slowly moving in his favor. It had been so easy to tell with Torio - she'd lose her temper, snap at him irritably and Sand could quietly make a mental tickmark in his score column.

_Sand - 3958 Torio - 3957_

_By the gods, he missed her._

Sand spoke, his voice courteous, "I agree with you, mistress. The Brotherhood cannot be trusted. They put the geas on me and they can remove it at their convenience - and of course, at their own price. I've already spent years of willing servitude under them and loathed it. I hate to see what unwilling service is like." He walked over to the vanity, stepping over the spilled containers and items and opened the secret room. "To maximize our chances of success, we need to perform the ritual at the darkest part of the darkest night. That would mean the next new moon. I can be ready for then." He picked up the notes and looked at her, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Nivarra nodded firmly. "There's a new moon in a few days. Soon, but not soon enough." She scowled, staring at the mess around her. "They wouldn't remove the geas so outright, not at first; after all, we paid a high price for you, slave, and the spell was put in place in order to enable our..._my _control. There are certain laws that..." She paused, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Not that that would stop them, if they decided they'd rather have you for themselves."

She swore again, kicking through the mess on the floor and slipping into the small secret room behind him. "No, it'll have to be as soon as possible, else that's exactly what will happen, and then...then it'll be too late. Began whatever preparations you need to, slave. We'll waste no time." Her eyes glittered in the dim light of the small alcove as she gazed around the scattered notes and open tomes. "I'll ensure that they won't have the ability to take _anything_ from me, ever again."

She turned, and slipped back into her room. "Call a servant in here to clean this up." Her slipper toed a broken bit of glass scattered across the floor amongst the mess. "And then I believe you have preparations to make? I'll instruct the guards to have none disturb you; you will focus on this ritual from now until the time we need to perform it." She moved to the bed and began undressing distractedly, her eyes unfocused and thoughtful. She glanced at him coolly. "Although as of now, there's a bed that needs to be warmed, I believe."

Sand dropped the stack of notes on the desk and closed up the secret room. "And what of your father and his requests? What if the Brotherhood summons me to their Tower tomorrow?" Lazily he called up an _Unseen Servant _and instructed it mentally to tidy up. Sand deftly sidestepped the small, wispy presence in the room and the shattered glassware.

He pulled out his spellbook and carefully put it on the small night table beside the bed and began undressing. He kept his eyes down but said quietly, "I hate to remind you of this, mistress, but your father did revoke your authority over the guards. It might be suspicious if you were to command them to leave me alone without good cause." Sand crawled into the bed, taking the spellbook with him and pulling the blankets up to his chest.

Nivarra said, sharply, "My father does not control as much of this household as he thinks. Do not trouble yourself, slave; I will take care of it." Despite the arrogance in her voice, there was a tinge of worry at the back of it, and she quickly shed her outerclothes and slipped into the bed, plumping her pillow angrily.

_It's all falling apart,_ said a little, nagging voice at the back of her mind. She yanked the blankets to her chin, pressing closer to the wizard than she consciously meant to._ Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry...else it'll all slip from your fingers and you'll lose everything._

And then there was the Brotherhood. The wizard did have a point...despite the fact that they legally owned Sand, if the Hosttower decided they wanted him badly enough...

She didn't say anything, but merely turned on her side away from the wizard, her eyes shut tightly._ Shar, mistress...lend me strength._

She was asleep not long after, her face twisted in an unhappy frown.

Sand waited until she was asleep and cast another _Sleep _spell on her. Her frown deepened for a moment and then faded. He slipped from the bed, and pulled on his robes again. Walking quietly into his own chambers he found a small vial of an _Invisibility_ potion. Sand didn't feel it very necessary to report to Birren tonight. He was fairly certain every mage or prominent member of Luskan society knew by now what had happened at the Tower. Instead, he cast _Ethereal Jaunt _and slipped down through the walls and floors of the manse until he found Matthew. Dispelling the _Ethereal Jaunt _spell, in the same motion he drank back the _Invisibility_ potion.

_Matthew. It's Sand. I've delivered the papers._

Matthew sat up from his mattress, blinking in the gloom. "Sand?" he whispered groggily...and then he seemed to wake up fully, and realize where the elf was. The young man glanced around the small alcove he shared with an older slave, the man snoring softly on the other side of the room. He sat up. _What happened? What did they want from you at the tower? I'm relieved you managed to pass on the papers...hopefully the Moonstars will be able to do something with them._

Sand moved over and sat beside the young man, the bed depressing mysteriously under his invisible body.

_The Brotherhood wanted what I knew about Neverwinter and such. I am now at their beck and call. _He tried to keep his thoughts casual but there was a nauseating disquiet building at the thought of being back in the Hosttower.

_Listen, Matthew, friend. Get the Moonstars to move quickly on this. The Arcane Brotherhood will have unpleasant methods for dragging the truth of all things from me. And...tell them to keep a watch on Nivarra..._

The geas protested mightily and Sand gripped the flimsy mattress beside him as he sought to silence the cough in his throat. The older slave shifted in his sleep and Sand breathed deeply a few times.

_I can't say anything else - the geas... I have to return to her now. Birren at the Red Dragon may be of some help, if you can trust him. _

_Birren._ Matthew rubbed his eyes tiredly, and nodded. _I'll mention his name to the contact. They've got evidence, but Lord Dornan's a powerful man. Getting it to stick is going to take a bit more than a few sheaves of merchant ledgers._ The man stared into the darkness, for a moment merely listening to the soft snores, sleepy mutters, shifting and rustling of the sleeping men and women all down the long hall.

_I'll pass on everything you've said. This business with the Brotherhood worries me; if you need help...anything at all, just tell any of the servants in the kitchen and we'll get word out to the Moonstars._ His eyes creased anxiously at the corners. _We'll work as fast as we can, Sand._

_Thank you. Farewell, friend. I have spells to memorize for Dornan. _Sand stood and cast _Ethereal Jaunt _again, floating up through the mansion until he was back in Nivarra's room. She was still sleeping. Sand moved into his small chambers, taking with him his spellbook and flipped through the pages, studying the spells that Dornan had requested of him.

A half hour later, he slipped under the covers with Nivarra, pulling the blankets up to his chin. While she didn't exactly sleep peacefully, there were no creases across her skin as she inhaled and exhaled steadily. Her face had a pale, whitish glow from the moonlight, the angles of her face casting shadows here and there on her cheek. He reached out and touched her cheek briefly. As much as he loathed his servitude, he couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. Was she really in control or was she the pawn, the tool to be used - by her father, by the Red Dragon, by the Arcane Brotherhood, by the clerics of Shar, by him?

He sighed and turned around so that his back was pressed to hers and fell asleep.

* * *

Nivarra awoke from a deep, unutterably dreamless sleep, inhaling deeply. She felt completely relaxed, refreshed...and her mind was still seething with the events of the evening before.

There was a soft pressure against her back. She shifted, pushed up onto her elbow, and glanced behind her, to see Sand stretched out on the bed, his cool body warmed slightly from her proximity and the thick blankets that covered them both. Her foot was practically itching to disturb the relative escape that the elf received from his surroundings every night, as she had a habit of doing...

Instead, she reached over, and tilted him back onto his back, letting him half-fall against the warm hollow her shifting body left on the mattress. She gripped his face firmly and kissed him, none too gently, attempting to ease the wild, uncertain uneasiness that was beginning to fill the pit of her stomach.

He was the last thing she was truly able to control, at this point. And who knew how long that would last? "Wake up," she whispered harshly against his mouth, rolling on top of his body.

Sand woke with a start when Torio...

_Nivarra_...

…kissed him and climbed on top of him. Unbidden, he felt himself harden in the early morning light and he shifted his weight slightly to hide his arousal. "Good morning, mistress. I'm awake." Feeling strangely impulsive, he lifted his head off the pillow and returned the kiss. The geas gave a happy sigh inside his chest; part of the foreboding weight lifted and Sand took a deep, relaxing breath. "Plans for today?"

Nivarra eased her weight up slightly onto her hands, hovering over him as her legs slid on either side of his body, straddling him lightly. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed down at him. "You have a ritual to prepare for," she said silkily, trying to keep her voice even. She could feel his hardened member pressing between her legs, and sighed in something almost akin to relief.

A part of her still nagged at her, though...her voice had a slightly harder edge to it when she spoke again. "You seem to want to do something else, little slave." She shifted her hips slightly, brushing the heat between her legs against him. "You're still mine, despite what the Hosttower or my father or anyone else may say or do. Mind..." she shifted back again, sliding down his length until she sat in her original spot "...and body."

His words from the night before stung through her, reminding her of her tenuous grasp on the meager control she _did_ possess. She began kissing his neck. "You would do well to remember that, slave. Now undress me."

Sand pulled her thin sleeping shift over her narrow frame. "As my mistress commands..." He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly so she could easily gain access to the skin of his neck. There was something in her voice, her movements, her words that was different than before. He opened his eyes again, his gaze shifting over to where he could see the side of her head. "And what will you do if the Hosttower or your father takes me away from you?"

Nivarra didn't answer right away. She lifted her arms slightly, wriggling out of the shift, her mouth moving imperceptibly up off the skin of Sand's neck as the fabric passed over her head.

_What would she do?_ She had placed a surprisingly large dependence on the wizard in the last week; a part of her plan, surely, but as everything else was beginning to unravel, more and more everything was beginning to ride on this single wizard's ability to perform a ritual. He'd gone from mere bargaining chip to her only route of escape...

"I told you..." her lips trailed down his chest, across the flat, plane of his stomach, the skin pale and cool beneath her mouth. "I shall worry about them. You have plenty to worry over on your own, don't you, little slave?" Her fingers wrapped around his stiffened shaft, each finger curling methodically around him and lifting him to her mouth. Her eyes trained on his face above her for a moment. "So eager to escape me, slave? From my clutches to the Hosttower? They won't treat you as _sweetly_ as I." Her lips closed around him, suckling him into her mouth, her eyes half-closing as she began working her tongue along his length.

Sand gasped and unconsciously pressed his hips forward, pushing his length deeper into her mouth, his fingers gripping the sheet that had been carelessly tossed aside in their antics. "Not so eager to escape someone who treats her slave so well but just wondering about...._oh gods - gods_! your contingency plan. We must be prepared..." Sand lifted his head and looked down at the top of her head bobbing up and down. Her mouth was wet and warm and with a guilty pang he realized that if she woke him up like this every morning he could get used to her...

_Thinking with the wrong head there, Sand..._

He whimpered helplessly against her administrations, the geas practically forcing him to lie there for her, to enjoy it. He felt so hard; erect in the chilled morning air, her saliva leaving a trail of cool moisture along his member. "Girl...." his voice came out a long moan.

Nivarra felt a chill of satisfaction at the longing in the elf's voice, his body bucking slightly underneath her as her mouth worked over him.

_A contingency plan..._

The vial, in her bureau.

She slid him slowly from her mouth, his shaft throbbing slightly against the light grip her fingers had on him. "I have ways," she purred quietly, nuzzling his inner thigh, her mouth tracing a path along the smooth crease where his thigh met his hips. "The Hosttower may call for you, it is true. But under the laws of Luskan my father owned you; and he gave you, to me, as a gift. There is something behind that, even if they try to find a way around it." She slid up his body, tasting his skin the entire way, settling her hips firmly on his once again and stretching her torso out as she reached above his head and gripped the high edge of the headboard. "And my father is not without secrets." Her eyes glittered darkly, the small motes of lightness in their depths swallowed by her dilated pupils as she stared down at him. "And he is only mortal, after all." She lifted her hips and pressed her opening against the tip of his member, teasing him, holding herself up.

Sand made a disappointed noise as she moved her mouth away from his organ but it was quickly replaced by a begging noise, coming from within his throat as she used her body to taunt him. "I'm more worried about the Brotherhood than your father..." His hands slid up along her hips, his fingers dancing lightly across her skin until they found the narrowing of her waist. He tried gently nudging her down along his shaft while lifting his head to meet her lips with his. "You play a very dangerous game, mistress. For both our sakes, I hope you win."

Nivarra caught his mouth with hers, plunging her tongue past his lips. He hands were pressing against her, inexorably downwards over his shaft, and she let out a moan stifled against his lips as she slowly slid over him and he stretched her walls, filled her completely. She released the headboard, letting her body fall against his as her hips slowly began lifting and falling, riding against his member with agonizing precision. "All the more reason to ensure the ritual is a success," she practically gasped; her skin was alight with a sudden rush of heat as her body responded to the slow strokes along the inside of her body, her hands pressing lightly against his chest. She lowered her head to his shoulder, kissing the smooth skin that ran taut above his collarbone. "The Brotherhood would think twice and thrice over when faced with an avatar of the Nightbringer herself..."

_Avatar of Shar_. The thought sent a bolt of pleasure through her body that mingled with the physical sensations thrumming between her legs, and she exhaled forcefully before pressing her mouth against the base of Sand's neck, sucking back against his skin fiercely as her hips began driving against him in earnest.

Sand's head fell back against the fluffly pillow as she began impaling herself on him, his back arching up to meet her thrusts. She was fully in control - as she nearly always was with him - his hands on her hips merely as a formality.

Her mouth was drawing his skin in, the pain radiating from his neck outwards until he exhaled in both pain and ecstasy. "The Nightbringer and her loyal Elven wizard by her side, hmm?" He pushed her down, completely merging their two bodies together, the sweat of her skin sticking against his. His whole body gave a tremble as he felt the way she greedily took him in, every aspect of him.

Whether he had wanted it or not, she was slowly making him hers. It was getting harder and harder to resist; he was getting more and more tired of constantly being on edge. After seeing how her father had treated her, how the Hosttower had used her, Sand couldn't help but feel a tiny, wiggling bit of sympathy. The quiet seductive voice in the back of mind was getting more difficult to ignore. _Give in, Sand…_

He pulled her face to his, pressing his lips to his mouth, pushing his tongue inside and tasting her. They were two pawns being used by everyone else and for the first time, Sand sought out her company to ease his aching loneliness and fear.

_Loyal elven wizard?_

For a moment she paused, pulling back slightly from his kiss and staring down at him shrewdly. His expression was caught between lust and something unreadable; she slid her hands up around his face, holding it still as she bent her head back down and kissed him, probing his tongue sensually, unhurriedly. The possibility of Sand at her side without the spelling effect of the geas was a new, novel idea...she had always assumed that a slave released from its bonds would simply run or enact revenge.

Her fingers slid up from the sides of his face to his lobeless ears, gently rubbing them between her fingers as she began thrusting against him once more, their body's making soft, damp, satisfying noises as they fused together. Heat radiated from between them like a furnace, and she could feel a light sheen of perspiration film over her skin like dew, her thigh muscles tensing against his hips as she rode over him. "I assure you, wizard," she whispered breathlessly, her voice tight from the building crescendo of sensation between her legs, "Loyalty to a Nightbringer has its own rewards."

Sand gave a lazy, knowing smile as she began stroking his ears. Truly, his one weakness and like a good Luskan she knew to exploit it. He knew - deep down - she was coyly using sex and pleasure to curry his favor now when it seemed as though he was slipping from her grasps, just as she had used her fists and foot to curry his fear when she had absolute authority over him.

He felt a small laugh bubbling up in his throat, "Its own rewards? Rewards like this?" He chuckled and couldn't help but tease her, "You plan on giving the greatest wizard this side of Faerun sex as a reward for good behavior?" He pulled her closer to him as he felt his member begin to pulse inside her slick sex. He groaned as the blissful buzzing from his ears and his groin mixed, catching her eyes with his. Her hazel eyes were shining with a simmering light, the dawn sun rising through the window behind her giving her an almost sinister halo. She was no angel and yet all the same, he pressed his face to hers. Torio had a past as marred and chock full of evil deeds and yet over time, he found he didn't hate her quite as much. In fact, he had even loved her in the end, hadn't he?

Sand whimpered both at the thought of Torio and the rising climax building between them; but he clamped down on his tongue lest he call out the wrong name again. Instead a nameless cry tore from his throat as he orgasmed. His hips bucked up from the bed, his arms wrapped themselves around the thin girl as he held her down and tight around his shaft as it spilled his essence. His whole body gave a long shudder and he thrashed helplessly beneath her as the swell of pleasure rolled over him and swept him away, deeper into Luskan.

Nivarra was nearly thrown from Sand's body as he thrashed beneath her; she held on, feeling the throbbing, spilling warmth rush between her legs as he emptied himself into her, feeling his body rock and spasm against hers. His arms held her nearly pinioned down on top of him, his hips grinding upwards against her so hard that they lifted off the bed, and she gasped as her insides coiled tightly in response..._close, close, close..._

He sagged to the bed beneath her, her body still thrumming insistently, demanding release; she peeled herself up slightly off of his chest, their skin sticking damply, and gazed down at his satiated form, an arch to one brow. "Don't get too comfortable, little slave," she said, her breath heavy, aching, needing... "You still have work to do."

Sand opened his eyes and gazed at her, his eyes still dark from his recently satiated lust. "Mmm of course, mistress." He kept one arm around her, holding her around his slowly softening, satisfied shaft while the other hand slid down between their shining skin until, with some difficulty, he touched her swollen pearl. "This type of work? I am certain if you give me a few minutes, I can be…ahhh...ready for you again."

Nivarra sagged against Sand's body as his fingers touched her, a sharp bolt of intense pleasure shooting through her middle. "_Yes_," she whispered; she pressed her hips down and forward, pushing her flesh against his hand, feeling his slackened shaft slide from her a few inches as she moved. Heat pulled at the apex of her thighs, waiting..._by gods_, she was close, even the slightest of touches...

She swung her weight back against the bed, rolling them over; the sheets stuck against her sweat-slicked skin, but there was nothing else except the elf's agile, dexterous fingers poised against the engorged nub between her legs, and she arched into the pillow behind her, uplifting her hips and urging him onward. She kept her mouth firmly closed; a thick, guttural ache tightened in her throat, and she would never allow herself to utter a word like _please_, especially when her own body was doing more begging than she deemed suitable by a long shot.

Sand disentangled himself from the girl, withdrawing himself from her hot, throbbing sex and moving half off her body so that his wrist wasn't pinned uncomfortably between them. He pressed his fingers down, rubbing them in slow, leisurely circles while watching her face discreetly. Her eyes were half-shut, her lips pressed together. Her face had a pink flush to it, warming up her normally frigid countenance well. Sand could feel every single muscle of her body vibrating as he pressed up against her and he held her here at the cusp of release for a moment, savoring the briefest feeling of being in control again. But he only allowed himself that quick, breathless moment before he lowered his head, taking an erect nipple into his mouth and sucking back, his fingers resuming their languorous stroking.

Nivarra writhed underneath the elf's administrations, her body shuddering and clenching in one long, indrawn breath...the heat built between her legs once again, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and as Sand's fingers pushed her onwards she climaxed, her lips parting in a long, ecstatic cry, her fingers digging into the bed beneath them. Warmth suffused her skin, every sensation running together in one rolling wave of pleasure, and she gasped for breath as she sank against the bed, her body falling limp underneath him.

There was, for a moment, only the sound of her ragged breathing as she lay placidly, her heartrate slowing down once again. She lifted her head slightly, looking down at the top of Sand's head; her hand came up, catching a strand of his midnight dark hair and brushing it back from his face, sifting it between her fingers...

...And then she dropped it, and pushed him away from her, averting her gaze. "Get dressed," she said, her voice still roughened with satiated passion. "We dine with my father this morning." And just like that, she moved from the bed, sliding towards the wardrobe, her back to him in dismissal.

Sand let his head rest against the pillow as he watched her nude retreating back, sighing, before rolling out of the comfortable bed. He pulled on a housecoat and made his way to the bathing room, where a set of red robes were waiting for him. It took him less than half an hour to bathe and change, and he re-entered Nivarra's room, his hair still damp and loose around his shoulders. "Mistress?"

Nivarra's chamber maid had shown up in the interim, and Nivarra now sat, smoothing out the last strands of her elaborate hairstyle before standing, her pale skirts swishing around her legs as she glanced over her shoulder. "Follow me," she simply said, and turned, heading for the door.


	31. Chapter 31

**Volume 3, Chapter 31 – Torio: Like a Bad Penny  
**

_Be careful, you might get some of the local culture on your boots..._

The gnomes were staring at her. And whispering.

She swayed dizzily for a moment, her sleep-deprived, plane-traveled self giving her rather acute warning signals that any minute might be her last fully conscious and upright minute before it took care of her needs for her and sent her face first onto the cobblestones. She slid down the small hill from the gnome's tent down to the main street that ran through Port Llast, blinking in shock.

She was back.

_And Sand was only days away by carriage..._

No one had seemed to recognize her, yet; she wondered if they even would recognize her, the dirty, armored personage she was currently wearing miles different from the immaculately groomed and be-gowned woman that usually represented Torio Claven. She needed a bed, and food, and means to travel north, in that order.

Someone bumped into her as she stood half-dazed on the side of the street, and she heard a vaguely familiar voice mutter, "Excuse me..."

Old Carmen had been walking down the street, carrying loaves of bread from the nearby baker when he had brushed into the impressively armored warrior, carrying what he could tell was a magical blade by her side. Normally the cook would have said something smart to the woman who was just standing there in the middle of the busy walkway - a "Git out of the way, lass!" would have probably sufficed - but seeing as how he was currently unarmed save for bread and a hooked hand and he was currently stuck in the small port town, he didn't think it too wise.

The small crew that had survived Drakken's attack had swum and then basically crawled here. Abelor had been at first depressed, wallowing at the local inn and spending most of his coin drinking himself into a stupor every night over the loss of his ship, the Lusty Luskan. Then that depression had turned into a focused, livid rage and a want for revenge and now he was making ridiculous plan after ridiculous plan to storm the harbor and steal Drakken's flagship.

Old Carmen stopped again and half-turned, looking at the woman. She was still standing there, teetering on her feet and the cook wondered if she was injured. She didn't seem bodily so; maybe she wasn't right in the head? His mind was whirring - perhaps there would be a reward for saving her or turning her in, either way, they needed the gold. He approached the dirty, dazed woman, looking at her carefully when suddenly he recognized her and nearly dropped his bundle of food. "Lass!"

Torio stared at the aged man for a moment, her befuddled thoughts grinding to a screeching halt. She recognized him...the cook from Abelor's ship, who'd given her a decent cup of wine and had told her he knew she was a girl and Sand's lover all in one brief, cramped-galley conversation.

"Carmen?" she asked numbly, blinking slowly. She seemed to shake herself, and grasp at the last straws of coherent thought she had left, squaring her shoulders and stepping close to the cook, glancing furtively around them and pulling them off the road, next to one of the buildings before speaking in a hushed tone. "It's good to see you survived the battle; you'll have to tell me what happened after my..._wizard _spelled me away." Her mouth twisted humorlessly. "Abelor...is he here? Where are the others?"

"Aye, lass - takes more than a waister of a seaman to finish me off." The old sailor's eyes glittered darkly in the alleyway. "The cap'n be 'ere along with a few others. Davey, Nobbs. Robbie and Chancey be lost to the briney deep... The cap'n's gone and made 'imself right useless - first with grog then with vengeance. He be plannin' on purloining the good Drakken's flagship."

He offered her a loaf of bread. "The lands may not yet be safe fer ye, lass, from Luskans or Abelor. The cap'n is right sore from the loss of his ship and may use the bounty ere your head for his profit so might I be suggestin' ye head south back to Ne'erwinter?" Old Carmen pulled out a half-finished bottle of wine and took a hearty swig. "So! Do ye have a mighty tale of yer return or will you leave an old man wantin'?"

Torio took the bread gratefully, tearing into it like a wild beast; she hadn't eaten since the boat trip up the river on Elysium, and her stomach gave a pained snarl as the smell of baked bread filled her nostrils. She slunk a little closer to the wall at the word _bounty_...of course, she could explain away that Neverwinter had conscripted her into their service against her will, but good luck telling Luskan footsoldiers and Hosttower interrogators that, especially considering what had happened last time...

She swallowed, wiping her mouth as her eyes took in the cook consideringly. "So it's like that is it," she said quietly, her gaze constantly darting back out to the road every few seconds. "Well, I suppose I should thank you for not immediately trying to cash in yourself. Neverwinter..." She briefly thought of what might happen if she returned to Neverwinter, with Sand no longer with her and a wild tale about the planes. She was already their prisoner; what could she tell them that would make them possibly believe her? Not to mention her deal with Mephasm. If she returned it was almost a certainty that they wouldn't let her wander free again to assassinate some random Luskan woman, not with their wizard disappearing under mysterious circumstances; and she, the only witness to it, a woman with a reputation for lying and twisting words.

_Wonderful_.

She pushed a hand through her hair, tugging at the short strands in frustration. "Look, I know Luskan backwards and forwards; what if I were to...help Abelor? An exchange of services." Her mind was racing...there were few and scattered contacts in Luskan that she could still use at this point, but there was one dwarf that still might consider helping her, if she could just get inside the city. _Undetected and unrecognized, of course._

"Eh - ye took passage aboard me ship and ate a meal prepared by me hand. I be considerin' that an oath of protection." Old Carmen shrugged. "So ye be determined to go after the wizard? Won't be easy - the poor pointy-eared bastards probably already been sold into slavery or killed by them mages. Speak to me Cap'n, lass. But ye know now there's a risk." He led her through the small village, keeping close to the buildings, shielding her from sight. The locals seemed to have taken to the gnarled old sailor; faces smiled and children waved at him. He gave Torio a half-grin, slightly embarrassed and said gruffly. "Can't be prickly all the time, lass."

He led her to the backdoor of the Alliance Arms Inn, letting himself in and walking up the creaking stairs. "Cap'n." He gave Torio one final questioning look, as if to give her one last chance to leave. "A lass be comin' to ye with a proposition."

Torio took a deep breath, her eyes flicking up and down the hallway, taking in as many possible escape routes as she could. _ There are days I feel I should at least pay lip service to Tymora; she seems to have her hands too deeply in my life as it is._

The door opened, and Carmen gestured her to follow in after him before disappearing inside. She ran her fingers through her hair once again, smoothing it down, and stepped through. The spacious room was well lit, oil lamps burning feverishly along the walls. A scattering of possessions lay haphazardly across the room, although Torio recognized nothing from the Lusty Luskan; blankets, maps, clothing, weapons, all strewn about as if the tiny wardrobe in the corner was a mere formality instead of storage space.

Abelor had his back turned to her, his head bent over a desk, muttering to himself...he turned, as the door opened, and Torio swallowed hard; there was a strange gleam in his eyes that hadn't been there the last time she saw him, although he was otherwise much unchanged..._how long had she technically been gone for?_

She ducked a regal bow towards him, as if she were still in skirts instead of dirty leathers. "Captain," she said evenly, ignoring the pounding of her heart, and keeping close to the door. "I hear you're planning to commandeer a ship."

Abelor looked up and his jaw dropped. He didn't even try to hide his shock. The girl was standing before him, dirty, tired, worn but alive and in front of him. She also carried herself with a determined, rigid air he hadn't seen before - like one who had been through the hells and back. Surprisingly, she looked comfortable in the armor with the kris strapped to her side and very casually, he checked for his own dagger.

The girl and the wizard had cost him his ship and his quick, greedy mind was making the calculations and the plans. The bounty on her head was worth 10,000 gold pieces. Drakken's ship was worth at least twice that; plus the glory of utterly humiliating the harbor master?

He stood and threw his arms welcomingly around her shoulder. "Torio! You're alive! Food? Drink? Yes yes... definitely going back to Luskan and getting me a new ship. Where have you been? You think you can help me? Even if you can't, I would love your company."

Torio felt her shoulders loosen slightly in relief, but she kept her hand close to her kris, her eyes hard, wary. "If there's anyone on Faerun that can help you, Captain, it's me. A drink would be..." for a moment, her mouth split in a tired smile, "...Ha, I'll steal a ship for you all by myself if you can offer me a decent glass of wine." She helped herself to a chair; the adrenaline that had pumped through her blood as her feet carried her through the door had quite suddenly stopped, and her fatigued legs were already shaking. "And I might just be able to, in fact."

She twitched her chin in the direction of Carmen. "Your cook tells me you're planning a rather...expansive heist on Lord Drakken's ship?" She pursed her lips. "You'll need papers to get into Luskan, regardless; and papers if you want to get anything from Haeromos, which I can get you if we play our cards right." She was subtly slipping the "you's" and "me's" into "we's". "To put it bluntly, I can forge anything you want; identification papers, writs of passage...written orders from noble officials demanding supplies...horses, even, or a small ship?" Her eyes gleamed. "Just get me Haeromos' seal, or at least a copy of it, and within hours we can be on the road, or the water, and in Luskan before the end of the week."

She shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Once in Luskan it doesn't have to stop there, although you won't have much time to dally if you're planning to steal the Harbor Master's ship. But what say you?" For a moment the corner of her mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. "It seems a better plan hasn't fallen into your lap just yet, from the look of things."

Abelor pursed his lips and then just handed her a freshly opened bottle of wine. "All right. The seal would be easy enough to steal; the people here are so trusting I don't think they lock their doors half the time." He chuckled. "In fact, we know they don't." He patted a nearby coin purse.

He sat back down behind his desk and leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. "I'm not too good with paper work. I'll leave that to you and we'll play along. And once we're in Luskan? What help are you offering?"

Here was the tricky part. In all honesty it was a gamble; she was half willing to get herself to Luskan with Abelor's help and then leave him to his own devices as soon as she could get away, but she wasn't in a position to be looking over her shoulder for Abelor, while simultaneously trying to find Sand and kill his mistress...

She was getting too old for this. Sand's vision of Candlekeep's tabletops was beginning to become more and more appealing every day. _If that option is still available to you, girl...the elf might be a happy prisoner where he's at._

She wouldn't think about that...she didn't have time to.

_So..._"Once in Luskan, I still have strings I can pull. Not many," she warned, holding up a hand, "But there's a dwarf...Maxxil, that my old master once tried to supplicate aide from, and the bastard turned him down flat." She couldn't help the sly grin that spread her lips. "Which gives me a small sliver of hope this time around; he might actually help us, now, especially with Luskan as hellish as it is. I can't imagine Luskan's ports are turning a decent profit with Drakken digging his heels in, and war with Ruathym tightening everything down."

Abelor remained as he was sitting, only his eyes moving over the woman's face. The girl was clearly desperate to get into Luskan despite her level-headed, calm exterior. Going after her fiance Sand, likely, though knowing Drakken, the elf was probably out of reach by now. Not that he would tell her - he needed her help getting in and getting his ship.

Still, he had to admire her dedication to the wizard as foolhardy as it was.

"All right, Torio. We'll protect you on the roads, and travel with you into Luskan and you help us get the ship." Suddenly he gave a dry, dark laugh. "But unfortunately, lass, I don't think my men are too keen on taking another woman aboard, superstition or not. The last one we took - " He looked at her pointedly. "Caused us to lose the whole vessel. So you'll have to find your own way home."

He sat up suddenly and clapped his hands together. "Well - you are welcome to spend the nights here with us if you don't mind sleeping with swarthy sailors. We only had enough coin to rent one room."

Her voice was dry. "At this point, Abelor, I could sleep on the floor surrounded by snakes if it got me a few hours of decent sleep." She stood, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I'm going to take a much needed, I'm sure you'll agree, bath...and then I'll take you up on your offer." Her eyes roved for a moment over the scattered clothing, and hodgepodge clutter of the room, wondering vaguely how on earth his sailors slept up here. _He must have lost quite a few men, for them all to fit in here and still have room for one more..._ "As soon as you get me that seal, I can start working on forging what we'll need. Until then, I plan to spend a considerable amount of time unconscious..." She stood and turned, nodding at Carmen and slipping from the room.

The bath went by in a blur; there was another woman in the bathing pool with her, but Torio ignored her, her mind clouding with the need to sleep. She passed the common room dazedly, even the smell of cooking food unable to give her pause, and when she stumped back in to Abelor's room there was a sleeping roll laid out on the floor for her. She set her armor and kris aside, pulled back the blankets, and was asleep before her head had even hit the small, meager pillow below her.


	32. Chapter 32

**Volume 3, Chapter 32 – Sand: Much to Lose  
**

The hallways stretched before them; she led the way back to the dining room that Sand was introduced to his first night in the estate, albeit this time only Lord Dornan occupied his chair. Nivarra sat across the table from him, gesturing to the seat next to her and glancing at Sand, her face a blank mask. Servants appeared at their sides, filling their small cups with steaming, hot tea, and serving food onto their plates. "Good morning father," she said evenly.

Dornan looked up at them both, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Good morning, daughter," he said. "We have a problem."

Sand seated himself, picking up the mug of tea and blowing on it lightly, watching the steam rise up and disappear with each breath. He gripped the mug to keep his hands from shaking. He had a feeling he knew what the problem was but kept his eyes lowered, but his ears alert. Hopefully the Moonstars were as well connected and as efficient as he had heard. He took a sip of the hot tea, his face as calm as possible.

Nivarra watched her father impassively, idly stirring her tea. "What's happened?"

Dornan's cold, dark eyes stared at her from his pale face; the lines that normally were hardly visible seemed to scour his skin, carving paths underneath his eyes and down from the corners of his nose to his mouth. "My investment practices are being challenged as criminal by an anonymous group of merchants," he said evenly; he could have been speaking of the weather; his voice gave no indication of any emotion he might be feeling. "They feel they have...'evidence' to prove that I have somehow tricked men and women into wrongful indentured servitude. The City Guard was here earlier this morning, while you were still lazing in bed." A slightly hard edge touched his voice. "The magistrate will hold a hearing for us the day after tomorrow."

Nivarra's expression had not changed throughout her father's posturing, but there was a strange, knowing gleam in her eye. "What do we have to do, father? I will do anything you ask."

"Of course you will, girl." He took a sip of his tea, his eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. "We need information...we need to know what we're facing. I want you and this...pet, of yours, to find out who these merchants are that are accusing us and what makes their claims so credible that the magistrate is actually daring to bring us before him." For the first time, Dornan's eyes fell on Sand. "You, wizard...you represented those Harbormen in their defense at that trial, yes? You will accompany my daughter. I want to know everything, anything you can find out." He took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. "Bring me a name of whoever is accusing us by this afternoon...I may be able to negotiate with them before this ever goes to trial..."

Sand nearly choked on his tea. "My lord - I...I will do what I can." His mind was racing; could he lead Nivarra astray in their search for evidence without the geas rebelling? Especially since he knew what the evidence was and who the people were - being both the provider of the evidence and now in league with the accusers.

_Well, at least this won't involve going through Ember with that grouchy ranger..._

_No, it'll involve going through Luskan with an insatiable crazy succubus instead..._

He straightened up in his chair. "I'll need as much information as possible to start, my lord."

Nivarra grew quiet, contemplative; she didn't appear to be listening as Dornan outlined the information. "The merchants are calling themselves the Blackmoon Traders; no one I know of has heard of them, of course, but the magistrate seems to be taking them seriously regardless. Either they have an inordinate amount of money at their disposal…or the evidence they have is something the magistrate is unable to ignore." There was an edge of slight worry that vaguely registered in his voice for the barest of moments...

His eyes flicked to Sand's face once again. "Get me names, wizard. I want someone tangible at my doorstep by this evening, willing to negotiate. I don't care if it's their pageboy; bring him to me." Dornan had polished of half of his breakfast; he stood, glanced at Nivarra's thoughtful expression with poorly hidden disdain, and turned, leaving the room.

Nivarra seemed to snap back into clarity once the door shut behind her father's retreating form. She glanced back at the servants standing in the far corners, available if needed and yet invisible otherwise. She leaned over to Sand's ear and whispered quietly, "I have an idea. Finish your food, gather your components; meet me by the front door as soon as possible, and for gods sakes, bring a cloak. The guards shouldn't trouble you, not this morning." She stood abruptly, her chair rocking back ominously as she shoved it back and slid around the table, practically running for the door and disappearing through it, her heels echoing down the halls.

Sand had to bite back a laugh when he realized that the ever impatient Nivarra was actually allowing him the privilege of finishing his breakfast - alone and in relative peace as well - before meeting her. He sat back in his chair, savoring for the first time since he had arrived in Luskan a meal; the juicy meats, freshly baked bread, the sweet fruits, the eggs boiled to perfection. He gave a little sigh of disappointment when it was over but dutifully went to his chambers, walking freely through the hallways. Every servant he passed he wondered if they were one of the ones that could be freed, if they knew what was stirring in the basement of the mansion.

He gathered up his components and a healing vial. He pocketed his spellbook as well and found the traveling cloak he had worn the day before. Half an hour after Nivarra had left, him, he was back by her side.

Nivarra was waiting impatiently when Sand reappeared. "Hood up," she said sharply, her own face hooded and her form cloaked. "Outside, quickly."

Once they had slipped past the guards at the gates and had spilled into a carriage, Nivarra seated across from him...only then did she pull back her hood and speak quietly. "Listen, slave, and listen well; My father thinks the merchants leveling these charges against him are staying at the Seven Sails, so we go there now. You and that slick tongue of yours are responsible for convincing them to meet with my father for tonight, at least; and I have...measures of padding persuasion." She touched the money belt tied to the sash around her waist. "But keep your mind alert." Her eyes glittered as the light flickered into the depths of her hood. "My father is going to depend on you, if these charges have merit behind them. And I know some of my father's past dealings; I would not be surprised at all if this turns out to be quite, quite serious." Her voice was thick with barely suppressed glee.

The carriage rattled, slowing down as it approached the Seven Sails Inn. "He'll ask you to win for him, wizard. But instead...you're going to lose."

Sand's head whipped in her direction. "I am?" But it all made sense - and Sand had to grudgingly admit that she was one to capitalize rapidly on circumstances that looked like it would bode well for her. "Very well, mistress. But if these charges are true and your father does lose the case, what will happen to him? What will happen to your own financial situation? You could lose all your servants because of this." He couldn't imagine Nivarra handling a mere commoner's existence well at all and he wouldn't be surprised if he was the first thing she sold.

He shuddered at the memory of Inther Blackfeather, the cruel slavetrader. They had now stopped in front of the Seven Sails Inn and Sand's heart gave a small tug at the memory of the place. How many days had it been since he was here last? And with a different lover at the time, as well. Had they repaired the wall yet? It seemed as though his knuckles gave a sympathetic throb at the memory of his helpless rage. He never thought he would see the inside of this building again. At this rate, he would be back inside Orban Asrar's mansion tomorrow and in Gwyn's tower the day after. He pulled his hood up again and stepped out of the carriage and up to the front of the door. The doorman gave them a perfunctory glance, "Reservations?"

Sand shook his head. "No, we're here to see the Blackmoon Traders." The man looked from him to Nivarra, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Very well. Follow me."

Nivarra's hood remained up as they entered the inn, the doorman passing them off to a serving girl who smiled at them politely and took them up a flight of stairs. The room she led them to was luxurious, if a bit smaller than some of the more opulent accommodations; a trio of well dressed, somber figures rose as the doors to the room's foyer were opened, and the serving girl announced them quietly.

One of these figures, her face schooled in elegant calm, was Doss.

A man stepped forward, his gray, curling beard trimmed closely around his face. "Lady Nivarra," he said, his voice deep and resonant, rumbling from low in his chest. "We were expecting your father might send you." His voice was wry, knowing; there was an air of definite, polite smugness amongst the three "merchants," and Nivarra accepted the man's offer of a chair, sitting straight-backed and prim, her face pale and cold from beneath her hood.

The man bowed low to her. "My name is Jearl Stoffard; the Blackmoon Traders answer to me, ultimately. And these, my associates, are Fenny Winhard," here, Jearl gestured to where Doss sat, "And Wescett Sorn." A younger man, dark skinned and with an elaborate moustache, nodded to Sand and Nivarra pleasantly.

"You seem to already have me at a disadvantage by knowing me already," Nivarra said stiffly. "This is my servant, Sand."

Three sets of eyes fell on Sand briefly, while three sets of ears didn't fail to notice the slight inflection of the word "servant." Doss spoke first. "And what can we do for you today, Lady Nivarra?" The question was directed to Nivarra, but her eyes were on Sand, expectant.

Sand glanced at Nivarra and remained standing at her side, his voice smooth. "Ah, well met. Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice." Really, there had been no notice though Sand wouldn't have been surprised if one of the servants from the morning breakfast had somehow tipped the trio off. "Very kind and gracious of you. Now, you must understand our distress with regards to these charges. Lord Dornan is a reputable business man; he works regularly with Birren at the Red Dragon Trading Company and has the favor of the Arcane Brotherhood, including the halfling mage Vergo and the mage Kryten. Surely a mere criminal would not be able to gain such prominence in a just city like Luskan?"

Sand was trying to pass on as much information as he could to the three gathered before him. "We are very concerned. Even mere accusations can only besmirch an honest merchant of the city and make it very difficult for him to continue his business. He has a family to look after..." Sand gestured at Nivarra. "...and he is known for hiring day servants from the streets, helping those less fortunate than him earn a day's wages."

Sand had to admit, a part of him found this whole conversation rather ridiculous. Dornan? Helping the poor? He knew it was absurd, they knew it was absurd and by the hells, Nivarra knew it was absurd. And yet they all continued listening to him politely, their faces mildly concerned and mostly impassive.

Torio would definitely be proud of his silver tongue at the moment.

"Listen to me, friends, we do not have to drag a good man through the mud over these concerns. What is your evidence? We invite you to come meet with us at Lord Dornan's place tonight."

Nivarra's mouth twitched, but she remained silent; she had no illusions about her skills...or lack thereof...in diplomacy, and they at least weren't being thrown out on their ears immediately.

Something was nagging at her, but she couldn't quite place it. She understood the need for Sand to persuade them to meet her father, but...

_...but if it gave them a little more information than was prudent to give, what was the harm? _Sand was doing exactly what she had instructed him to do. It was beginning already.

Jearl stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Our evidence, of course, will be presented to the court in a few days time. And we understand the seriousness of these charges; fraudulent business dealing is not a light crime when one is dealing with the virtual slavery of failed business partners. We take this matter seriously, as well."

Nivarra said, quietly, "I assure you, it would be quite beneficial for all of us if we could solve this away from the courtroom, my lords...and lady." A nod to Doss; the half-elf didn't return it. "I assure you, my father is quite willing to negotiate."

"I believe you," said Wescett wryly. "He has much to lose; he would be wise to negotiate, but we are very determined to bring this matter to justice."

Nivarra hunched her shoulders slightly. "Please," she said quietly. "He is my father. At least come, tonight, and speak to him." Her mind was working quickly; she hardly presented the image of the doting daughter...but the image of possibly soon-to-be impoverished daughter was not altogether off the mark, and her eyes were as sincere as she could make them as she met their gazes.

There was a long, rather heavy pause, and then Jearl nodded. "We are, of course, humbled by your generous invitation, and we accept. We will meet with you and your father, Lady Nivarra."

Sand's shoulders sagged slightly in relief. He was fairly certain if he had failed in his efforts, Master Yune and Hipshari would have been seeing a lot more of him. Sand bowed at the three 'merchants'. "Thank you for hearing us out. In the interest of justice, it would only be fair if tonight we could discuss what exactly this evidence entails. So much evidence can be up for interpretation - what one constitutes fraud may merely be clever business practices."

He went to exit the room when Doss spoke up, her voice crisp. "Elf - what is your role in this? You speak a little much to be merely the Lady's servant." Her eyes bore into his, her gaze sharp and astute.

Sand nodded slowly, "I have...experience with legal matters. I was a lawyer prior to coming to Luskan. I am currently advising Lord Dornan on these issues." His blue eyes flickered up to hers and then he looked back down at Nivarra. "Mistress? Shall we depart?"

Nivarra was watching the exchange with slightly narrowed eyes. She gave a slight jerk of her head, and together her and Sand left the small room and made their way downstairs and out to the waiting carriage. Once they were safely inside, the carriage kicked into motion and began clattering away again over the cobbles.

Nivarra stared out the window for a long moment before tapping on the wooden slat behind and above her head. It opened, and the drivers voice called down, "Yes, Mistress?"

"The Docks, please. Archives building." Her eyes gleamed shrewdly as the small slat closed and the carriage made a turn away from the roads leading back to the estate. "We've got some research to do."

Sand looked at Nivarra as they rode through the city. "I hope my performance there was adequate." He peered out the window, recognizing a few buildings here and there before turning back to her. "What kind of research, mistress?" He couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of shelves upon shelves and rows upon rows of books and scrolls for his perusal.

The Archives. He had been granted limited access when he had studied with the Hosttower. His eyes slid over to Nivarra's silent form. How much further would he be able to get with her?

Nivarra's voice was quiet, contemplative, but her face was a hard mask as she spoke. "There's something peculiar about those merchants; of course, nothing is as it seems in this city, but I'd like to know what kind of hand I'm playing with." She settled back in her seat, staring at the window, a slight, pleased smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The shifting strands of control that had started slipping from her grasp in the past few days were suddenly within grasping reach. "And they seem rather...confident in themselves and in their case. I want to research my father as well. Oh, I'm sure the Archives would have nothing too incriminating; father is a bit too clever for that." Her eyes flicked to Sand's face. "But his actions must have left some paper trail, and the Hosttower watches trade deals closely in this city; and if they've missed something as serious as a wealthy aristocrat manipulating business right under their noses...well. It could go very hard for him, indeed."

The carriage made a turn, and suddenly the sky darkened as taller buildings and scattered towers rose on either side of the street. Nivarra watched him steadily, pockets of sun shooting through their window occasionally and flashing across her hooded face. "As for you; past cases, precedents, anything set beforehand that might...aide...our cause would be beneficial. Even though we're planning on losing it must look like we're not blatantly trying to." She smiled thinly as the carriage slowed. "And after our meeting with our...friends, tonight, we may have enough information to pay the Hosttower a personal call."

The carriage stopped. The driver jumped down, opened the door, and helped Nivarra down onto the street, his eyes flicking to Sand's face only briefly, expression blank. As Nivarra swirled towards the door of the tower rising in front of them, a pair of innocuous eyes watched from the side of the road, standing still in the quiet bustle of robed acolytes and mages as they passed on the street. On was a dark cloaked figure, face unidentifiable in the gloom of its hood, but the other was dressed in the scarlet trappings of the Red Dragon Merchant Company. They followed Nivarra's progress as she walked, the door to the tower opening for her and admitting her as she disappeared through it. The Red Dragon's man glanced briefly at Sand, and arched a knowing eyebrow...before both the figures turned, and melted into the shadows of the streets beyond.

The door was still open as the doorman waited for Sand to enter, patiently.

Sand followed just behind Nivarra, his eyes, ears and nose taking in and remembering the Archives tower. There was a quiet, crackling energy about the place - so much latent magic and knowledge, just waiting at the tips of his fingers. Except it was slightly different this time; instead of being a lowly apprentice, begging for admittance at the threshold of magic he was now studied and skilled enough to rival half of the masters in the room.

Except for the fact that instead of being a master, he was a slave. To a lowly apprentice. The gods were cruel.

"Very well mistress; I shall look into those matters." He gave her a small bow and moved off between the bookcases, running his fingers along dusty spines. He walked past the books on fantastical creatures, past the books on political treaties, past the lore books, past the magic books that practically hummed under his touch longingly, until he was nearly at the back of the Archives. Here were the legal books and here he was alone for the moment.

Sand scanned the titles, finally settling upon half a dozen books. He had his choice of the empty tables and he selected one by a window, the sunlight and the breeze streaming into his face. He could look out and see people walking by; if he listened carefully he could even make out the occasional harsh cry of a gull. Sand sat there for a minute, his hands running hesitatingly over the wooden surface of the table, his mind giving a bittersweet twist. He had joked with Torio about testing the strength of library tables and now here he was, sitting at a new table and no Torio with him.

Nivarra was soon lost in decades old trading accounts, registers and tattered receipts of trade, logbooks and merchant writs of legality. Her father's name showed up often; and a few times, underneath it, was the dusty signature of Lady Maran, in some of the older logs where the paper was yellowing and the edges were tattered and fuzzed as if the very parchment threads were trying to escape one by one. The scrawled lettering made her heart freeze, only momentarily; she could almost remember her mother's slim, elegant hand holding the quill, scrawling over the parchment, idly indifferent to the daughter sitting at her feet...

There were a multitude of merchant companies she had never even heard of mentioned in some of the documents. And in the past ten years there was no mention whatsoever of the Blackmoon Traders. Not that Nivarra was terribly shocked; they had a look, an air about them that smacked of nothing she'd ever seen in Luskan, save from the corners of her eyes or in the shadows of back alleys. There were many organizations that moved and worked underneath the Hosttower's watchful eyes in ways that kept themselves from catching notice, and she was no fool as to not be aware of it.

But who were these, then? And although it currently worked in her favor, she felt a dread uneasiness settle in her stomach..._how did they gain information on her father's past dealings?_

She glanced up from the pages. She could see the top of Sand's head far across the long room from where she sat, half hidden behind a shelf, the light from the window he sat by dancing across his dark hair, bright and colorless, swallowed by the sheer blackness of it. She briefly wondered what went through the elf's mind throughout this ordeal; he was a slave, servant, plaything, but he had an apt mind and an intelligence of which depths she couldn't begin to fathom. What did he think of all of this..._of her..._

She blinked, and snapped her head back down onto the tome in front of her._ Idiot girl._ She was so adamantly determined to be focused on her work, that she didn't notice the figure approach Sand's table...


	33. Chapter 33

**Volume 3, Chapter 33 – Sand: The Brotherhood's Ilk**

"Well, well, well." The voice was jovial, even friendly. The middle-aged, beardless human grinned at Sand in something akin to smug friendliness peppered with no small amount of wariness as he stood at the end of Sand's table, his yellowish eyes taking in the elven wizard before him. "I almost thought I'd been sent back in time by one of Filan's botched spells again...Sand? Is that you I see sitting before me?"

Sand looked up, slightly annoyed at being perturbed from his work but glancing around and not seeing Nivarra anywhere, he answered silkily, "Why, if it isn't my old friend Percival. Yes, it's Sand, in the flesh. Still running errands for Filan? What does he have you looking up this time, charm spells for his mistresses?" He casually closed the book in front of him, his blue eyes never leaving the face of the man before him.

The two of them had spent years in a sort of amicable yet uneasy competitive friendship. Eventually Percival had found Filan as a master and Sand had gone onto work with Yarreth and the friendly jabs had taken on a decidedly more sinister turn. Then Sand had left Luskan and it appeared as though Percival hadn't. "Tell me, _Percy_, Luskan been treating you well?"

Percival's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained friendly. "I'm still alive, still a mage, and still am in possession of all my faculties. That's about as well as she gets, isn't it?" The tallish man sat down, running his fingers through short, curled brown hair that was swiftly running to grey. "Say what you will about Filan, elf, but the man's vices tend to give him a softer side than most of the High Mages I could have latched on to. Besides, he's nearly doddering; what's it been, 15 years? He can hardly tell if Nephila is sending him a pretty lass or a shaved, perfumed chimpanzee, half of the time."

Sand laughed in spite of himself at the image of a shaved, perfumed chimpanzee being escorted through Luskan. "Yes, Filan's getting on in years - he was already quite elderly when last I saw him. I suppose if you stick around long enough you'll take his place as High Mage, hmm?"

He eyed the books scattered across the table. "Studying legalities, are we? What are you doing back here, anyway, Sand? Last I heard you ran off to Neverwinter and were working a little charms shop in their slums." He glanced around and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "Yarreth was killed, nary two weeks ago, did you know?"

Sand casually pushed the books aside, eying the man before him and wondering how much he already knew and how much he would find out anyway. "I'm back in Luskan, working as the house-wizard for Lord Dornan and his daughter, the Lady Nivarra." He supposed it was technically close enough to the truth. He waved offhandedly at the pile of books, "Just doing some research into the laws regarding business practices in Luskan for my master. The fellow can't be bothered with books I suppose."

Sand glanced out the window at the mention of Yarreth, the queasy uneasiness rising up in his stomach, and then forced himself to look back at Percival, saying quietly. "I suppose he deserved it. He was most of the reason why I left. Filan may have shown you his softer side; but I don't think Yarreth had one."

Percival snorted, glancing around again before sitting down at the table. "That hawk-eyed lass at the end of the hall your mistress, then? She was staring at you rather hard before I walked up to you; if not, then methinks you need to introduce yourself to her." He waggled his graying eyebrows, and chuckled, before his voice grew serious again. "You've come back at a bad time, wizard. I hope for your sake your master can keep himself out of it. Not only Yarreth, but one of the more prominent merchants was murdered in his own house barely a few days before. And the Harbor Master himself was kidnapped right out of the harbor! This city's getting restless, elf, let me tell you." The human shook his head, his yellow eyes grim. "I've managed to survive so far, but when Filan finally drinks one too many firewhiskeys with his dinner and keels over, you won't see me for the dust. I'm not risking myself with another master...and I suggest you get out yourself."

"Friend of yours, wizard?"

Nivarra was leaning against the nearest bookshelves, one eyebrow cocked questioningly over one hazel eye.

Sand's head whirled in the direction of Nivarra's voice. "Ah, mistress Nivarra. May I introduce you to Percival. An old friend from my days as an apprentice with the Hosttower. We were just...getting caught up. It's been many years since I'd spoken to him." His eyes darted to the human mage and he said, "It seems as though all of Faerun is going mad. Take care of yourself, old friend. Perhaps we'll meet again in another 15 years."

Percival's eyebrows went up at Sand's rapid retreat, but he merely stood as well, eyeing Nivarra with open curiosity. "Of course, Sand. Perhaps next time you'll have managed to look at least a day older." The man's smile was friendly, but his eyes still carried that guarded wariness as he turned and slipped back into the shelves, disappearing amongst the other mages scattered about the room.

Nivarra held a sheaf of parchment under her arm, her lips pursed and her eyes cold as she looked at Sand. "Did you manage to find _anything _of use when you were not sociably chatting, wizard? Show me what you have."

Sand's gaze followed Percival until he could no longer see him. It was strangely good to see him again, despite their tense past. And Sand really did wish him well - perhaps one of them would make it out of Luskan alive. One day.

He turned back to Nivarra and pulled a few books to him. "Yes - look. According to Luskan laws, contracts signed between business partners are legally valid in all circumstances even if the venture goes sour. The Blackmoon Traders would have to prove that your father never intended for the companies to be a success - and proving conspiracies are rather difficult. We can argue - weakly of course - that economies and policies change, making a good business one day an utterly impossible one the next and that your father never intended for the companies to go under."

Nivarra's eyes scanned the page thoughtfully. "Of course, that would be the sticking point; my father's intention in the deals that he made, especially those where he gained the servitude of his debtors." She nodded, and then glanced at Sand wryly. "For a masterful wizard, slave, you give fairly sound legal advice; is there anything else you can do that I should know about?"

She gestured for him to follow her as she led him back towards the doors, pulling her hood up around her face once again. "Our opposition will have a difficult enough time as it is, proving that father was purposefully marking his business investments for failure; and yet they seemed confident to me." She lowered her voice into a murmur as they passed through the doors and out into the sun once again. "We shall have to hope they have a competent Counselor presenting their case."

"There are days my well developed skills amaze even myself. I discover more hidden talents about myself every day it seems." His voice was only half-dry as he exited the archives. Sand followed suit and yanked the hood over his head again and followed her to the waiting carriage. "I concur - we shall have to get the name of their lawyer. It is good that they are confident; it shall make my task for you decidedly easier." The driver opened the door and Sand let Nivarra enter first before following her. "What have you discovered?"

Nivarra waited until the carriage began moving, and moved to sit on the bench next to Sand, spreading the sheaf of parchments out on her laps. "Information on my father's business dealings; most of these are straight as an arrow, nothing sinister about them in the slightest; but you should go over them regardless; I know for a fact my father wouldn't let proof of dealings less than pure find their way into the Archives."

She lifted a long scroll of paper that was covered on every inch by what appeared to be names. "Unsurprisingly, there's no registered company that goes by the name of the Blackmoon Traders," she said wryly. "Merchants that wish to do business in Luskan must fill out a registrar at the gates to log their presence in the Archives, unless they're invited expressly into the city by someone of importance." She thumbed a long list of names in her hands. "Another way for the Hosttower to keep their hands in everything. The name isn't on any registrars...and neither are their individual names." Her finger traced down the parchment, running over long stretches of dry-inked names. "And I have my doubts about them being invited. Still...if this proves to be an unsuspected positive windfall then it won't matter where they're from." Her mouth twitched slightly. "And I suppose I could keep these lists until after the trial, for research of course..." her dark eyes flicked to Sand's face, cold amusement glittering through them. "..and to ensure no one else questions why the Blackmoon Traders are in the city."

Sand met her gaze squarely. "If we don't question why, other people certainly won't. We must use Luskan's inherent jealousy of each other and other people's success to our advantage in this case." He leaned back against the carriage seat, thinking. "It doesn't matter why they're here and there's not much we can do about it anyway. If the Arcane Brotherhood wishes to see your father before the courts, they will ignore these... inconsistencies. If the Hosttower wishes to step in and stop the proceedings, they will intervene." His smile was wry, no real mirth in his eyes. "The joys of bureaucracy."

Sand glanced out the window again and with a shock realized where they were headed. "We're going now to the Hosttower, aren't we?"

Nivarra's mouth merely curled in a slight smile as the carriage turned a corner and slowed to a halt. The door was opened; in the light of day, the seemingly-miles high tower looked somewhat grimy, attacked by seaspray and seagulls, the stones chipping down from decades of battering shore winds. And yet...the miasma of guarded magic seemed to curl through the very cobblestones at their feet as Nivarra was helped down from the carriage, and there was almost constantly the sense of someone watching them as they were admitted through the front door.

There was a figure waiting for them as if he had been expecting them all along, and Nivarra, for a moment, uneasily wondered if this wasn't the case. Scrying eyes were everywhere in this city, and she had the instantaneous, unsettling insight...who might be watching her?

And then Vergo smiled at them, the smile never reaching his eyes. "Lady Nivarra and her...house wizard. Welcome. What can the Hosttower do for such distinguished personages?"

Nivarra's voice was cold and clear. "We have a proposition for you."

Vergo seemed to take this in stride; he gestured to a side door, the half-bow he gave looking almost ridiculous on his small frame. "Of course. Through there, if you please; I do hope you both enjoy Evereskan wine?" As if by magic...most likely by magic...the door the halfling gestured to suddenly opened, and he entered the side room ahead of them.

Sand followed demurely behind Nivarra, his head down but his eyes darting from side to side. The Hosttower had the most unpleasant way of making him feel pinned and helpless.

_Maybe because every time you're here you _**_are_**_ pinned and helpless..._

The side room was decorated in forest green and gold. Pretty and innocuous scenery paintings were hung up on the walls, a small fire was lit in the fire place. A small round table with two large, high backed chairs were off to the side of the room and like many room in the Hosttower, there was a bookshelf stacked full of books. Sand's hand twitched in the direction of the books but instead he stood just behind Nivarra's right side.

He could feel the unnerving gaze of the halfling on him and he risked a quick look. Vergo was watching him, his expression unfathomable and Sand nodded politely. Half of him wanted to shirk behind Nivarra but he stood firm. He had to wonder what Vergo thought of all this - did he sympathise at all with his position or was sympathy an emotional stripped as a part of a payment for entry into the Hosttower of the Arcane? A serving girl appeared besides them and without a second though, Sand picked up the two glasses of the wine and offered one to Nivarra.

Wine from Evereska. If only Torio could be here... maybe this was where she had developed her taste for it. Sand realized he was staring almost wistfully into the glass and straightened up, waiting for Nivarra's proposition.

"Please, both of you have a seat." The halfling sat in a chair on one side of the fire, gesturing to a pair across from him...although a moment ago Nivarra could have sworn there was only one chair there. She sat, balancing the glass between her thin fingers, watching the halfling; he had crossed his legs to keep them from dangling over the edge of the chair, and he folded his hands across his lap, looking at her expectantly. She glanced at Sand only for a moment before speaking.

"You're aware of the case being brought against my father," she said evenly, leaning back against the chair; there were suddenly arm rests beneath her elbows where none were before, and she glanced at Vergo's face sharply; his remained impassive, innocent, thoughtfully intrigued. She went on. "It will be a...tricky road for us, to say the least, and I am curious to know what the Hosttower might do in defense of their newest business interest."

Vergo's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Do? Well, rest assured, we are most concerned with the allegations being raised against Lord Dornan, but at this point our hands are rather tied..."

Nivarra lifted her hand, stopping him. "I am curious to know," she said quietly, "What the Hosttower would offer to someone if they were to ensure that Lord Dornan were to...lose his case?"

Vergo watched her for a moment, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "The Hosttower would be curious as to why they should want such a prominent and influential aristocrat thrown into such dire straits. Lord Dornan is, after all, one of our wealthiest benefactors."

"You would still have access to his wealth," she clipped in smoothly. "As for my father's influence, he will not be head of his household forever; would you not prefer that his successor have good dealings with the Hosttower?" She took a long sip of the wine...an excellent year...and eyed the halfling over the rim of her glass. "My father uses his allegiance with the Hosttower merely as a stepping stone for his own reputation. I, however...I could be so much more to the tower." The thought of her striding through these halls, be-robed like the rest, more powerful than the Overmage himself with all the power of the Nightbringer at her beck and call made her skin flush eagerly. "My father is a weak, aging fool, Vergo; I could bring the entire hoard of Lord Dornan's wealth to the Hosttower's feet."

Vergo's eyes flickered thoughtfully. "And in exchange?"

Her answer came sharp and steely. "Acceptance, Master Vergo. Power. Robe me as one of your own." _And when you do, I shall become more powerful than you could imagine..._

Vergo's golden eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he examined her face; the lean contours where her cheeks were stretched taught over high cheekbones, the wide, cruel set to her jaw, the dark, cold eyes that, despite the yellow and green hints in their depths that might have made them beautiful on another woman, were merely harsh and empty, her gaze unfeeling and uncaring.

She would make a rather excellent addition.

The halfling's eyes flickered to Sand. "Tell me, wizard, about your mistress for a moment. Should we accept her?"

Sand gave Vergo a startled look and then looked down at Nivarra. "I didn't think a servant's opinion mattered much, Master Vergo but for what it's worth - yes. She's more of the Brotherhood's ilk than I ever was, or hope to be." It was true; he could have all the threads of magic at his fingertips but he would never have the ruthlessness and bloodymindedness to survive a fortnight in the Tower. Well he'd survive - he was wary enough to be cautious and continually vigilant; but sleep would be harder to come by.

And since coming to Neverwinter - since meeting Torio - he had begun to appreciate his sleep very much. Even when he was on the road traveling with the Knight-Captains and their band of merry fools, sleep was still restful. Until they were, of course, attacked by githyanki or giant spiders or Luskan assassins...

He nodded slowly, "Yes. She's the very image of what the Hosttower seeks among their ranks."

Nivarra kept her eyes on Vergo while Sand spoke; the halfling's eyes flicked back to her after a moment. "You may be merely a servant, Sand of Neverwinter, but...I have a feeling you spend more time with our Lady here than anyone else." Vergo eyed Nivarra thoughtfully. "Our servants know our most intimate secrets; they hold our lives in their hands, if you think on it hard enough. How vulnerable we make ourselves to strangers who we carelessly pass over as not being important."

Nivarra was unreasonably chilled for a moment. Was he trying to warn her?

Vergo suddenly smiled, his rounded face transformed by the simple act. "I will, of course, discuss your offer with the other Masters, Nivarra. We will send word as soon as we make our decision." He slid to the floor and stood, smoothing his robes down for a moment before bowing to both of them. "Until then, I shall leave you to finish your wine. Please, take your time, enjoy it. You will hear from me soon." So saying, the halfling disappeared out the door...

...and in their hands, their wineglasses were suddenly refilled.

Nivarra let out a sigh, breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding, and with shaking fingers, took a long drink.

Sand felt his fingers tighten on the wine glass when Vergo began speaking loosely about slaves. What did he know, exactly? He certain seemed to know more than he was letting on and Sand realized he would have to be extraordinarily careful around the girl from now on. Mercifully though, the halfling departed and even refilled their wine. Sand took a sip, the taste of the vintage suddenly sour in his mouth. He couldn't see how this was going to end well for anybody.

He put the glass of wine down on the table and offered his arm to Nivarra. "Shall we, mistress? I'd rather not linger here..."

Nivarra wordless set her glass down and stood, slipping her arm through Sand's as she led him out the door. She remained unnaturally silent, even as they found their waiting carriage and the driver cracked the whip. She lifted her hood over her face, her eyes flashing briefly as she glanced at Sand before they were lost in the shadows of her hood.

The carriage soon arrived at the estate, and Nivarra's uneasy silence was broken as she said, smartly, "Head to my chambers; I will meet you there presently." She marched quickly up the stairs and through the front door, the sound of her heels clicking against the flagstones disappearing up towards her father's chambers.

The doorman was watching Sand intensely as the elf got out of the carriage; as the driver pulled away from the front door, the elderly, well dressed servant cleared his throat. "If you could, master wizard, take the west wing back to Lady Nivarra's chambers? The eastern hallways are being scrubbed at the moment." The man's voice was flat and without inflection, but his eyes regarded Sand meaningfully.

Sand tilted his head slightly, the only indication that he had seen the look in the elderly servant's eyes. "Of course. Thank you." He turned on his heels and proceeded left down the long halls, his boots making muffled clicks beneath his robes down the polished stones. He walked slowly without loitering, his eyes scanning the hallways.

The hallways were eerily silent, a general stillness and lack of movement settling between the long stretch of doors that was almost tangible. A figure appeared at one door, cracking it open, just as the mental thought flashed through his mind..._Sand! Here, wizard._

The elf was pulled unceremoniously into what appeared to be a small storage closet, the door shutting behind him. Matthew's face was lit by a hand lantern, as was Friya's, both of them huddled together in the darkness. Matthew was grinning. "What happened? How did it go?"

Sand leaned back as much as he could casually; both Matthew and Friya smelled a bit too much like lye soap and the kitchens for his liking. "My, this is...cozy. I feel so _close_ to you both. You two better not get caught again, together like this. Put out the lights." He waited until they were plunged into darkness and then spoke rapidly and quietly.

"I met with Doss and two others. They're meeting with Dornan tonight. Nivarra wants me to lose the case on purpose without making it seem like I'm trying to lose it; she's offered to basically hand her father over to Luskan justice on a silver platter in exchange for admittance into the Hosttower. I'm going to be basing most of my legal argument on intent - all right? Get the Moonstars' lawyer to prepare arguments that clearly show that Dornan intended for the companies to go bankrupt. It's the only way, friend. I'm ruining my perfectly good court record for you."

"She's _asking_ you to lose the case?" Friya's voice was incredulous, and Matthew immediately clamped a hand over her mouth in the darkness, muffling her next words.

"_Quietly,_ girl."

Her next words were whispered, albeit sheepishly. "Sorry. You'd think one whipping would teach me."

Matthew scratched the back of his head in the darkness, the movement only visible to Sand. "I hope Doss knows what she's doing; she seemed confident that the information we gave them was enough, the last message we received, but...well, if you need to get anything to her, just come through me and we'll pass on whatever you need." Matthew lowered his voice even further. "I think there's some trouble going on with Lord Dornan and the guards; we're not sure what yet, but a whole contigent of the estate guards left this morning, and word is Dornan's having a hard time replacing them. That means double duties for the ones still left; all the better for us, having to sneak past exhausted guards, but keep an eye out, wizard." Matthew's voice was tinged with anxiety. "There's a storm coming, with that man...I just hope we can all get out of here before it hits."

"Well, if all goes well, you'll be free in a few days." They'd be free, slipped off the shackles of their bondage, back to their families and lives and he'd be...still here. With Nivarra. In Luskan. He couldn't help but sigh out loud. "I'll be careful but there's more risk in it for you now. Take care. And for the love of Mystra, don't do anything stupid. I mean, don't do anything else that's stupid." He pressed his ears to the wooden door, listening for footsteps. Not hearing anything, he cracked it open a sliver and then slipped out, hurriedly walking towards Nivarra's room.


	34. Chapter 34

**Volume 3, Chapter 34 – Torio: A Different Sort of Captivity**

They let sleep her for a full day, stepping over her still, prone form until finally they moved her up against the wall out of the way, the sleeping woman barely stirring. The sun was finally setting on the second day when Davey nudged her with his foot. "Lass. I've two things fer ye - a seal and a meal. We just managed to get the seal from Haeromos but we'd like to try to return it by morn lest he try running us out of town fer theft."

Torio sat up groggily, her throat incredibly dry...how long had she slept? It was dark out, and there were shapes around her lighting lamps as she kicked free from her sleeping roll, moving shakily to the small desk. There was a plate set balanced near the edge, steam rising from it, and next to it sat a small, round seal, carved from stone, with a long tube of red wax waiting patiently nearby.

She glanced at Abelor's face and chuckled in the gloom. "Nicely done," she said. "I'm amazed he hasn't run you all out for theft already, but I shan't question a good thing." She sat down, and picked up the quill...and after a few pre-emptive bites from the plate next to her, began writing.

She went through parchment fast; every time she'd finish a page, she melt a few droplets of the red wax against the thick paper and press Haeromos' seal into it firmly, her skin tingling with the excitement as she would pull it away and the perfect crested image would gleam up at her from the page.

It was long, tedious, steady work, but an hour before dawn, the food was gone, the wax nearly so, and her fingers were stained with ink. There were a stack of papers neatly arranged on their desk, and she wearily stood up, flexing her fingers together and wincing as the joints popped in protest. "It's all done," she said hoarsely, reaching for the wine bottle. "Here's the seal; we now have full access to Haeromos' stores, but I suggest we fill up right before we leave, lest he find out."

Nobbs grinned toothily at her, plucking the seal from her fingers. "Me Cap'n be wantin' to move as soon as yer done. He's found us horses and wagons to the City o' Sails. But first, to return this to our muchly obligin' friend..." The spry sailor bounded out the door, holding it open for Abelor who was entering. Abelor had cleaned up and shaved, dressed crisply in simple traveling clothes.

"Torio, my girl. The dangers of haboring a known fugitive into Luskan is great. Unfortunately you will have to travel stowed away until we have found your contact Maxxil. It won't be comfortable, but it will be safest." He tossed her a long cloak with a deep hood then with a free hand, picked up the stack of forgeries appreciatively. He thumbed through them, whistling lowly. "We'll take care of all the other arrangements now that we have the papers. All we'll need you to do is run from the inn to the wagon unseen when it comes time. Give us two hours; we'll have the wagons out back. I suspect our exit from Port Llast will be a hasty one."

Torio helped pack up what she could, but in the end she merely waited, fidgeting as the sailors packed the wagon below, their room slowly but steadily emptying out of all personal gear.

It was a long stretch of time where she stood alone in the room after the last of their gear had been taken down, when Davey was at the door. "Come along now, lass," he said quietly. "Follow me down, and into the barrel in the back ye'll go; we've kept it mostly empty for ye, but we still needed room for provisions..."

They crept down the back stairs, Torio's hood pulled low over her face. She was ushered out into the open for a few brief seconds, and the sky above her was lightening steadily, the air cool and fresh...and then she was lifted, bodily, up over the back of the wagon, and into a barrel full of...

"Oh gods...." There was a heady, slightly sweet scent as they covered the barrel partially, letting in enough light and air for her to see and breathe sufficiently. Below and around her, wrapped in cloth to protect the glass, were small stacks of lamp oil.

_All it would take is one little spark..._She wondered, briefly, if Abelor had a sense of humor.

The small group began moving off, Davey and Old Carmen on the wagon and Abelor and Nobbs on horses. They wound their way from behind the Inn towards the main road north, the streets empty except for a few early morning shopkeepers preparing for the day when suddenly -

"Stop! You!" Guards were rushing from Haeromos' main building, waving their swords indignantly.

Abelor threw back his head and laughed; giving his horse a kick, they galloped on towards Luskan, leaving the sleepy little town of Port Llast behind in the dust, no one knowing they had the most wanted and searched for woman in all of Faerun stashed atop a stack of stolen lamp oil.

* * *

They rode hard and fast, barely stopping for rests until finally they stood on a small hill overlooking the city of Luskan, hugging the Sword Coast, their horses panting and sweaty. Abelor tapped lightly on the barrel. "We're here, Torio. You still certain you want to go through with this?"

Her entire body was nothing but pinpricks of pain as blood stopped flowing in one part of her body and began flowing to another, which had, up to that point, had been numb with constricted blood flow. She grit her teeth as she tilted her head up, Abelor's voice echoing hollowing throughout the barrel. "Just go," she said harshly, her legs aching to be straightened, flexed, anything but curled up in the position they had been in all day...

They were here. They were _here_.

She had no choice, she had to go through with it. The glyph on her skin made sure of that. And even if she had had a choice....

She swallowed hard as they began moving again. Inanely, almost fearfully, she thought in her head...._Bodaes...bodaes, I'm here!_

But there was merely silence. They must be still too far away...

Abelor nodded then swiftly tightened the lid on her barrel, hoping the small cracks in the wood would be sufficient air for her until they found this Maxxil fellow and that she wouldn't become too woozy from the fumes. "Let's go, boys. Remember your roles!"

They approached the gates and the guards hailed them. "Papers and state your business."

Abelor handed over the papers and said simply, "Business on behalf of Captain Haeromos' from Port Llast. Hoping to set up some trade routes, get us through the winter." The guard's eyes flicked over the parchment then at the group of men before him. They looked like traders, of men used to hard life on the road - they had that right amount of guarded weariness and had a worn, frayed look to them. His eyes scanned the wagon and he walked over casually, examining the burlap sacks and crates. "Potatoes...carrots... All right, let them through."

He turned back to Abelor. "Conduct your business and then get out. Obey the laws of Luskan or else it will go badly for you here." He stepped back to his post and waved them through.

Torio tapped the barrel as soon as they were safely away from the gates; she heard a shuffling and Nobbs' voice; "Where to?"

"Wiley's Wheels, it's a wheelwright's shop in the Reach," she whispered back, and heard an answering tap on the barrel before the carriage took off down the road.

She heard the sounds of Luskan all around her...not long ago she had just been here, trying to escape...

The wagon pulled to a halt, and she sat still; it seemed to take forever, but they finally lifted her down and carried the barrel off the street, towards the shuttered side door of Wiley's Wheels. She heard Abelor's voice rumble congenially as he tapped on the door, "Mr. Maxxil, please!"

The dwarf yanked the front door open, his muscular arms bulging from underneath his rolled up sleeves. His wavy chestnut hair was full of wood shavings and he looked up at them curiously. "Ah, none of this 'mister' business. Just Maxxil will do - and what can Maxxil do for you?" He looked at their wagon, his dark eyes quickly assessing the vehicle. "Your wheels seem all right, if a touch misaligned but the price to fix it ain't worth it on a piece of junk wagon like that."

Abelor shooked his head. "No no, we have a gift for you. From Port Llast!" He gestured towards the barrel but the stout dwarf stayed put. "I don't know anybody from Port Llast... what is this? Some sort of trick?"

Davey popped the lid open slightly and peered down at Torio. "Well, sir, the parcel be not originally from Port Llast... At first, it hailed from Luskan then made brief stops all along the Sword Coast..."

Maxxil pushed him aside, "All right, enough with your fancy riddles and just let me see. You've got me curious but I'm telling you, if it's some sort of trap..." Standing on his tiptoes, he looked in and gaped. "My word..." His head snapped up and he glanced around quickly. "Yes that is some fine merchandise. Get it into my shop; we'll talk in there."

Torio nearly stumbled as soon as they set her on her feet again, her stiff, sore knees buckling under her weight. They solved the issue by shoving a chair underneath her, and she sat, watching Maxxil shake his head while she rubbed the life back into her legs.

"You must be stark raving mad...and what makes you think I'll help you?" came the dwarf's gruff voice. "Sure as anything, rumors flying about Torio Claven are half the reason Luskan's been locked down so tightly, and that has made our jobs harder, not easier. Don't touch that!"

Davey had been leaning in closely to a wheel vise, and the tall sailor jumped back, whistling innocently as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Nobbs caught Torio's gaze and rolled his eyes.

Torio eyed the dwarf in front of her; he seemed the last creature in the world to be Khelben Blackstaff's Luskan agent...his belly protruded slightly over the edge of his trousers, he was speckled with sawdust and wood shavings, and the weapons that hung high above the counter looked as if they hadn't been used in years. And yet, Garius had come to him, propositioning and offering alliances, and Maxxil had been so confident that he had turned Luskan's newest rising power down flat.

_Luskan always does underestimate the lesser races..._

"Well, I can't tell you what I've in mind will be easy," she said after a moment, wincing slightly as blood rushed down into her lower extremities and woke them up rather abruptly. "But my lord Captain here," she gestured to Abelor, "has something of an itch for the Harbor Master's ship; and I can promise you if Drakken has the audacity to_ lose his ship,_ he'll lose all of his credibility along with it, maybe even his life." She watched the dwarf in front of her carefully;_ having a bounty on one's head makes these conversations all the more interesting. _ "I'm positive that would take care of...at the very least...most of the problems you might be facing; it's Drakken's word, and that of his men, after all, that has half the Sword Coast on the lookout for my illustrious self, as well as every guard in this city."

She bent forward over her knees, resting her elbows lightly on them and looking intently into Maxxil's face. "As for I...I am looking for a woman by the name of Nivarra."

Maxxil's bushy eyebrows shot up so high on his forehead it was as if his hairline was trying to capture them. "Stealing Drakken's ship?" He looked from Abelor, to Old Carmen, to Davey and Nobbs. "You're _all_ stark raving mad. I love it. You - stay out here and guard your wagon and your wares." He pointed at Davey. "The rest of you, follow me." He led them through the shop, to what seemed to be a blank wall. A few raps on key locations in the wood and the panel slid aside, revealing a staircase heading down. "We'll speak privately on the girl Nivarra, in a moment, Torio."

The main floor of the little shop gave no clue as to the expansive basement: well lit, clean and organized. There were tables and chairs, small comfortable looking cots as well weapon racks and bookshelves. He gestured for them to sit down and poured them all a tall tankard of ale from a small keg in the corner. "You can take what weapons, potions and armor you need but unfortunately you won't be able to stay here. Too risky for me. I will be in contact with one of the agents shortly and they will seek you out. I'm sure they will help you where I cannot." The dwarf tapped on the wooden table surface, drumming out a tuneless rhythm. "Drakken keeps his ship anchored right at the front of the docks so it's the first you see when you enter and the last thing you see when you leave, the right arrogant bastard. It suits my organization's purpose to have him removed - too often he captures prisoners and criminals and instead of handing them over for dubious Luskan justice, he sells them straightaway to the highest bidder and we never hear from those folks again." Maxxil drained half the ale in one gulp, the head of the beer sitting on his mustache.

"I think it'll be easier to steal the ship than you bargained for. Drakken is so confident in the fear he inspires that he only hired half a regiment of guards to protect his vessel. Cheaper that way and he can pocket more of the gold. He's more worried about criminals blowing the ship up or stealing items from it than somebody actually stealing the ship as a whole. The one you truly have to worry about is his First Mate Bri'ila. Cunning man, deserves the gallows - like they all do. Now - all you have to do, really is sneak aboard the ship, overpower - 6 or so guards, cut the lines and sail out before the alarm is raised."

Nobbs spoke up, "Beggin' me pardon, but sneakin' through the harbor and onto a ship won't be an easy picnic..."

The dwarf waved him off. "Steal some harbor guards' uniforms. Pose as deckswabbers. Pretend you're delivering packages. Think, boy! I'm not expecting you to march into the docks with your name and intention over your heads. Use Luskan to your advantage. Luskan guards and servants are replaced on a nearly weekly basis. No one will question new faces."

Abelor had fallen silent, his eyes closed in thought. After a minute he replied eagerly, "Yes, yes I can see this working. It'll be hard to sail a ship with only the four of us but perhaps we can recruit others. I need a new crew and it'll be perfect to get them from right under Drakken's nose. There must be enough men desperate to get out of the city."

Maxxil grunted, "Well whatever you do, keep my name out of it. I can help you because I am anonymous. I'd rather have my peace and quiet than glory at my age. Now get out of here - you have work to do. I need to speak to Torio." The dwarf waiting in stony silence until the three men had left and then turned to Torio. "Nivarra's seems to be in a lot of trouble these days. Is she a friend? a foe?"

Torio's mouth twitched in an unamused smile. "She...I suppose she would be counted foe. I certainly wish her no good will." _I'm going to have to kill her, after all._ Her eyes wandered around the room for a moment...unlike the wheelwrights shop above, the room was neatly organized and free of sawdust, immaculately clean; she eye the cots in the corner with some resignation, but merely turned her gaze back to the dward. "My...partner, from Neverwinter, might belong to her household; I'm afraid with my rather _sterling _reputation it would go poorly for me if I returned to Nasher without him. I am not in excellent graces with Neverwinter as it stands."

She kept her voice as neutral as possible, but she could feel a sharp pang of longing shoot through her even as she offhandedly spoke. _I have come to rescue the elf that I love_ seemed such ridiculous, foolhardy thing to say in light of the seriousness of what she must do...and yet it was the truth, wasn't it? Weren't rescuers supposed to ride valiantly upon horseback with their armor shining, proclaiming their undying love and determination, and leaving all quaking in fear at the sight of them? She had come squashed in a barrel of lamp-oil with four deposed pirates and a price on her head. _Here I am, my love, to slay your current bedpartner._

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

After a moment, she looked at the dwarf, only slightly shorter than she was. "I'll do whatever you want," she said evenly. "Anything that I might be able to do for you, I'll do it...but I need to get close to that woman, and retrieve my partner. It's imperative; you might even say that my life is staked on it."

Maxxil gave a bemused lap. "Indeed? The gods surely as smiling down upon the Moonstars today." He leaned forward on his elbows, his feet dangling above the ground. "This partner of yours must mean a great deal if _you're_ giving me an open ended proposition. As it stands, there just might be a favor we need of you _and _one that will get you close to the elf." The dwarf slid from the seat and walked towards a back room, which was curtained off. "Give me a moment."

He disappeared behind the curtains and a small flash of light could be seen from where the thick, velvety fabric failed to meet the floor.

Torio watched the curtain for a moment, her thoughts churning. She turned and lifted the sleeve of her tunic momentarily, examining the glowing glyph on her skin closely; it never maintained the same shape, shifting slowly and sinuously along her skin, a very live presence against her arm.

Ever since the point in her life where she had given herself to Nephila's brothel in order to survive past street-starved hunger, all through Garius' service, and then Neverwinter's... the bracelet, then the oaths, and now an infernal mark; she wondered, briefly, if she'd ever be able to manage a long period of time where her actions were merely dictated by her, and no one or nothing else.

She bent down in her chair, attempting to peer under the curtain, the taste at the back of her mouth a bitter one.

Thirty minutes later there was a second, subtle flash beneath the curtains and Maxxil exited followed by a hefty human woman dressed in flowing wizard's robes. The dwarf made perfunctory introductions, "Torio, Ivery. Ivery, Torio."

The woman reached out and shook Torio's hand with a firm handshake, her meaty fingers enveloping the much smaller's hand completely. "Torio. A surprise, surely. Your last meeting with our organization ended on much more unpleasant notes, didn't it?" She sat heavily beside Torio. "I'll cut right to the chase since we're running out of time. Yes, we know who Nivarra is. Her father has been accused by our group - under a different guise of course - of fraudulent business practices and we go to court tomorrow. We still need a lawyer." The wizard gave Torio a very direct look. "You are well versed in legal practices, are you not?"

Torio couldn't quite help the slight smirk that twitched across her mouth. "You could say I've had legal experience." She eyed the woman steadily for a moment, before she nodded. "I'll be more than capable of handling whatever your case is, if that's what you want from me." She spread her hands wide. "I'll obviously need some sort of disguise, and I'll need whatever information you currently have on...Nivarra's father." She still had difficulty saying the woman's name, but she set her shoulders squarely. "Give me that, and I promise you your verdict will be handed to you on a silver platter."

Ivery gave a surprisingly feminine giggle as she stood, reached for her pack and dumped a stack of parchment papers on the table in front of her. "All the information we have on Nivarra's father. Your disguise will be my responsibility - we can do that now or later." The woman adjusted her wizard's robes which hung on her like a massive billowing tent. "I would suggest staying human. Many of the older Luskanites still harbor their prejudices, as unwarranted as they are."

Torio fingered the parchments, her eyes dancing over the scrawled words as she said, absently, "Now would be preferable...as it stands, being in my own skin in this city makes me nervous, at this point."

Her eyes sharpened slightly and she glanced at Ivery, and then at Maxxil, standing off to the side. "Once this is over, you will help me, then? Getting close to Nivarra in a courtroom is well and good, but I'll need access to her away from...well, hundreds of witnesses in a gallery, if you get my drift." She felt wary of disclosing her entire agreement with Mephasm to the Moonstars; despite how they seemed interested in upholding light, goodness, and freedom, she wasn't sure they would take her bargaining with a devil with shining eyes and bright smiles.

Maxxil refilled his mug of ale. "After the trial - provided you win - getting you to Nivarra will be easy since under Luskan law, her father will have to forfeit a great deal of compensation to his victims. Which means they'll lose all their servants, guards, drivers. The girl won't be going anywhere. I don't think the lady knows how to walk more than a hundred yards."

Ivery nodded. "And we've no fears about losing the trial. Everything is working against Nivarra's father. His daughter, the Brotherhood, his own lawyer..." The wizard and the dwarf exchanged looks and Ivery cleared her throat. "Sand's representing him. He's made a promise to try to lose the case for us - he's risked his life for us and we've been wracking our brains trying to think of a way to free him. He's been put under a _geas_ and is legally owned by Nivarra."

Maxxil folded his arms over his broad chest. "I have a feeling I know why you need to see Nivarra's alone... as much as I hate it, it may be the only way to free the wizard. Nivarra's gained quite a bit of influence with the Hosttower as of late because of your elf and we fear the shifting of power."

She kept her eyes on the parchment below her, her fingers paused where they had been tracing the words. It was all she could do to maintain her composure; _the trial...he'd be there...he's working with the Moonstars...a _geas...

She blinked rapidly for a moment, and said quietly, "All right. So we win this trial, and Nivarra loses any semblance of protection she might have; no guards, no servants, nothing in the way. I suppose that's more than anyone could ask for." She felt queasy, and shut her eyes for a moment. The hardest part of all this would be maintaining that iron wall of composure she was supposedly known for...

_Well._ On the upside, Sand was supposed to be purposefully losing...it did take all the glory out of winning, but it would make this easier.

She nodded at the wizard. "If you can disguise me, I'll get working on these documents; you've done quite a bit of work here already." She spread the papers out in front of her. "When is the trial tomorrow?"

Ivery gave Torio a half-bow. "Very well. A moment, if you will..." She pulled out threads of coccoon silk and draped it over Torio's hand. "Now stay very still." The wizard's hands flicked expertly and the woman before her shimmered briefly before rematerializing. An older, taller, voluptuous woman with severe, chin length red hair. And those same clear gray eyes. For some reason the spell didn't change her eyes. Another quick series of incantations and the _Polymorph_ spell was made permanent.

Torio had hardly flinched and Ivery raised an eyebrow. "Familiar with the _Polymorph_ spell, are we?" She rummaged through her pack again and pull out crumpled and stained identification papers. "You are Ednia Rexall, trained in law and philosophy at Baldur's Gate. The trial is first thing tomorrow. Not much time but the man is doomed already. We hope."

Maxxil circled her and studied her new look. "You look good. Not like your old self at all. Now -" He waggled his fingers warningly. "You can't let Sand know it's you tomorrow. There's too much at stake. The Brotherhood will be there and gods know how many other spies from other organization. We'll get you to the elf, we promise, but tomorrow you have to win the case for us first otherwise our hands will be tied."

Torio's fingers skittered over her face, through her hair; she was much higher off the ground than she was used to, and her rounder figure strained at the clothing she was wearing, her armor creaking as she moved. Her gaze flicked towards Maxxil, and for a moment a brief, genuine smile split her features..._Ednia's features._ "I'll promise not to slaughter Nivarra and steal Sand away as soon as we enter the courtroom," she said; her voice was lower, throatier. "You have my thanks...and your assistance would be poorly repaid if I didn't give you my all tomorrow. I promise you my best."

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I suppose I have some reading to do; is there anything else I need to know before I get to work?"

Maxxil and Ivery exchanged looks again. The dwarf finally shrugged. "Just worry about your arguments and we'll worry about your clothes, food...you'll be staying here tonight, obviously. An agent of ours will be sent to help your friends after Drakken's ship. Once you have Sand, return here immediately and we'll get you out of Luskan."

Ivery patted her on the arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing her. "Good luck tomorrow. Does it feel good to be arguing a case that will save people's lives, for once?" Without waiting for an answer, the mage spun on her heels and with a surprising lightness, disappeared behind the curtains and a flash of light took her away again.

Maxxil watched her exit before speaking again, "Help yourself to the food and drink here. I have to back upstairs and man my business and make sure none of your sailing friends have stolen my entire shop out from under me." His stocky legs took him back up the stairs and with a solid thud, the wooden panel was slid shut again.


	35. Chapter 35

**Volume 3, Chapter 35 – Sand: Taking Advantage**

Her father looked terrible.

His voice was still crisp and cold, as it always had been, betraying no emotion, no fear, no anxiety, nothing; if you only paid attention with your ears, Lord Dornan was still solidly in control.

"I want these rumors stopped, Nivarra," he said sharply, pouring dark liquid into a glass from a decanter on the side table of his study. "I've lost a quarter of my guard already; their Captain claimed it was due to my inability to promise a steady position to him and his men." The glass was tossed back; Nivarra watched the back of his light haired head steadily, her face impassive.

After a moment, he said, "What did you and the elf discover?"

"We have enough to make a case, father," she said smoothly. "Give him time to gather everything together; we can brief you tomorrow once we have something solid."

Dornan turned, then, and Nivarra nearly flinched at the look in his eyes. "Do not fail me, Nivarra." His voice was not overtly threatening, but something in his face made her step back. "Nothing is outside of my grasp," he said quietly. "Do you understand me?"

She swallowed. "I understand, Father."

Minutes later, she swept into her room, slamming the door behind her. She moved to her vanity, ignoring Sand for a moment, and pressed the catch that opened the secret room; as the wall slid away, she entered the small alcove, clearing a space from the small altar pressed up against the wall and sinking to her knees in front of it.

The candles scattered around the small space suddenly flared into life at the same moment as a chill began seeping into the room.

Sand could feel the dark energy permeate through him; it seemed to want to freeze the air in his lung, and choke the life from him. It reminded him of the time he got too close to a shadow and it had reached out and touched his chest and things had become very cold and dim. Until the tiefling of all people had distracted it with her daggers...

Sand wondered if Neeshka had broken into his room at the Keep by now and looted it clean.

He took a step away from the hidden room, uncertain. Suddenly helping Nivarra become a Nightbringer seemed to be a very bad idea. Too much was hinging upon 'ifs' and clever spellcasting; but the geas would force him to perform the ritual, and if it didn't kill him, the girl surely would.

He sat down on the nearby chair, drumming his fingers on his knees nervously while he waited for Nivarra to finish her dark prayers.

Nivarra's voice soon came from the small alcove. "Come here, slave."

She felt the elf's presence move across the room, settle somewhere close to her shoulder. She reached out, clasping his hand, and pulled it forward, pressing it lightly on the altar...

_...a circle of robed men, incanting, and a single woman at the center, her eyes closed, head thrown back as a shadow crept up around her body..._

_...flashes, voices...a robed man gesturing succinctly, his face hooded in darkness..._

Nivarra's hand over Sand's was shaking. A voice, barely a whisper, faint, slithered through Sand's mind..._Child of Mystra..._

The hostility was thick; Nivarra's fingers clenched in a spasm, and something akin to pain flashed across her face. She let go, and instantly the atmosphere lightened, and the small alcove was nothing more than a sparse side room hidden behind a wall. The candles flickered warmly, burning just like any other flame.

Nivarra stared blankly at the wall for a long moment, before she sucked in a breath and seem to shake herself. "She knows what we're doing," she said, quietly. "We don't have much time." Her eyes flicked up to Sand's face, and for a moment, an unfamiliar flash of uncertainty, almost fear, filled her eyes. "Are you sure you're completely prepared?"

Sand felt himself slowly sink to the floor, his mind echoing painfully with the pure hatred that resonated in his skull. He realized he was panting and he made an effort to get both his breathing and his heart rate back down to normal. The elf stood shakily, gripping the table tightly. "Almost completely prepared. Your father's trial may delay me a day or two but... Are you sure you want to do this, mistress? There are risks in it for you as well. Others have fallen victim to the Nightbringer, losing themselves in the process or shortly thereafter." And what would happen to him? A 'Child of Mystra' belonging to an Avatar of Shar? Sand squelched the shudder.

Sand turned to the girl and said seriously and honestly, "Nivarra, girl - I can do the ritual but what happens after - I will have no control over."

Nivarra's face was rather pale as she shakily stood to her feet. She had so much riding on this ritual...she had studied all of her young life, _all_ of it...and had gotten past only a few minor cantrips, the more complicated spells too far above her meager capacity for magic. She had been trapped for nearly twenty eight years, trapped under her father's heel, trapped behind her mother's memory, trapped in elaborate gowns and estate walls, unable to control her fate...and now she had a chance to change it all, at the risk of losing every piece of self she ever had left.

It was worth the risk.

She inhaled steadily. "Ensure that you are prepared," she said quietly. She turned, stepping from the alcove and into her room, moving the few feet she needed to in order to sprawl out against her bed. "Wake me this evening," she said shortly, and she shut her eyes, curling up against the blankets on her bed.

Sand picked up the notes and books again and retreated to his chambers, sitting down on his mattress. After days of sleeping on her bed, his own seemed obviously inadequate. Lumpy, thin...

_Cold? Empty?_

He read and re-read the notes until the words seemed to have seared themselves into his mind. The trick would be to use Shar's hatred of Mystra; hate was just as powerful, if not more so, than loyalty and patronage. And if he could tap into that...

He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. The window outside showed a sky that was red and orange with the setting sun. Sand stood stiffly, moving slowly and stretching out his aching muscles. He put away the parchments and compulsively tidied up a bit in her secret room. She might be able to work in an unorganized disarray, but he couldn't. Sand latched the secret door closed and moved over to the bed.

Nivarra was still sleeping soundly, curled up almost like a child. It was moments like this that cause him to temporarily forget that she was his owner, that he was supposed to hate her; instead, that subtle twinge of sympathy was back. "Wake up, mistress."

Nivarra's eyes opened slowly; she still felt slightly queasy, her sleep troubled by dark dreams that fled her memory as soon as she awoke. Her skin was chilled, and she sat up slightly, blinking in the dim light spilling in from her window.

She looked at Sand, her face softened by sleep for a moment; she reached out towards him...

...just as a pounding echoed through the room; a fist against her bedroom door.

"Lady Nivarra! Come quickly, your father summons you!"

Her face sharpened instantly, the mask back in place. She slipped off the bed, said harshly to Sand, "Come," and pushed her way out the door.

A guard was there, his face creased with worry. "Follow me, Lady," he said swiftly, and turned, his heavy plate-mailed steps leading them through the manor and out onto the high walled grounds. The evening air was chilled, the sky clear and cool above them, the sunset brilliant; there was a crowd on the lawn, interspersed with the shining forms of the guards, keeping the servants back from a trio of figures out on the lawn.

Lord Dornan faced a guard, who was attempting to hold a struggling woman still. As Nivarra and Sand neared them, the woman was recognizable as Friya...except that her normally neat hair was mussed into a wild halo around her head, and one shoulder of her roughspun linen dress was torn, exposing bruised and mottled flesh beneath it.

Dornan 's face was impatient. "Hold her still, man!" He caught sight of Nivarra's approaching figure, and nearly spat, "Please, take your time, daughter, by all means! Do something useful; have that wizard of yours spell this woman down already, she's completely out of control."

Nivarra's eyes flicked to the high collar of her father's shirt, the top few buttons undone; his face was flushed with anger, his eyes flaming, and she glanced at the woman fighting valiantly against the guard's grasp. There were tears in her eyes.

"What happened, father?" she asked cautiously.

"Do as I tell you!" he snapped.

Nivarra's face closed off, her chin tilting upwards slightly. She opened her mouth to order Sand...

..and there was a _chhhhhhing!_ of metal as Friya managed to grasp the hilt of the guards short sword and pull it free, swinging it wildly. The guard let her go instantly, backing up with his hands raised, and Dornan's face nearly purpled with rage as he took in the woman, clutching her dress to her shoulder with one hand while holding the short sword pointed outwards with the other. The servants gave an outcry behind them, the shuffle of guards pushing and shouting them back into order nearly deafening.

"Spell her down!!" Dornan shouted.

Nivarra looked at Sand, her face cold, expectant.

Sand froze. Something about the scene playing out before him was uncomfortably familiar...

His mind flashed back to the dream Torio had had; the dream he had followed along in when their minds were still connected telepathically. The dream where she was drowning and he couldn't save her...

_The torn dress._

_The bruising._

_The day she became Garius' servant._

He hadn't been able to help Torio but by the gods, if he would just blindly obey Dornan now. Sand balled up his fists at his sides and gave Dornan a long look, the revulsion boiling in his stomach. It took the guards yelling for him to snap from the reverie and he approached Friya, his hands out in front of him, the way one would approach an angry animal. "Dear girl...put the sword down. I'm fairly certain you don't know how to use it and we wouldn't want you hurting yourself." He looked again at Dornan. "If you don't calm down, I'm going to have to use a spell. We don't want that, hmm? Calm down and Lord Dornan won't hurt you." Sand glanced again at Dornan. "Come now, girl, be reasonable."

His fingers were fumbling with the component pouches around his waist, looking for the thin piece of wool needed for the _Daze_ spell. "Come on girl. I know you're frightened but put the sword down and you can return to the servants' quarters..."

Nivarra's skin seemed to freeze as she watched the girl back away a step from Sand, her eyes pleading...

Friya's voice came out in barely a whisper. "No," she said. "He won't let me go back." Her eyes flicked to Dornan's furious face, and back to Sand's.

A resolute calm stole over her features, and she backed up yet again. "Save them," she whispered to Sand; she released the shoulder of her dress, gripping the hilt with both hands. She cast a glance towards the other servants, and someone's voice cried out her name...

She turned the blade, shut her eyes, and thrust the sword deep into her body. Every single person standing on the lawn fell silent, and the air was so still that when Friya's eyes rolled up into her head, and she crumpled to the ground, the sound of her soft sigh rang louder than the shouting voices that filled the air moments before.

_Matthew? Matthew? Get Alysin! It's Friya...Oh gods..._

Sand rushed forward, rolling her onto her back and checking her pulse. Checking _for_ a pulse. His fingers pressed uselessly against the side of her throat; he grabbed her hand which was still loosely gripping the hilt of the sword and pressed two fingers against her wrist.

Nothing.

His shoulders slumped and he carefully lay her body back down on the ground, closing her eyelids. He was covered in blood. _Oh the stupid girl..._

Sand stood up and stepped back, wanting to give the body room for some reason. It seemed respectful, it seemed right. She was there, visible, for all who cared to see. He looked at Dornan, and said softly, "What did you do to her to make killing herself the better option?"

Dornan's eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step towards the wizard. "I will not have a _slave_ question my actions! NIvarra, control this..._thing!_"

Nivarra's hands clamped around Sand's arm, drawing him back, hissing under her breath, "Don't be a fool...!" Her eyes were fixed on her father, however, and there was a flash of fear as she calmly interposed herself between him and Sand. "Rest assured, father, I will take care of the elf."

Dornan's eyes narrowed, but Alysin and a handful of house servants were already running across the lawn; the white haired healer knelt at Fryia's side, ignoring the blood that trickled into the grass below them. There was a long moment of silence as she examined the body.

When Alysin turned once more, even Dornan seemed to give pause. The old woman's eyes were blazing with a quiet anger that seemed more dangerous than any raging fury spouted from Dornan's mouth.

"I would suggest, my lord, removing the servants back into the estate," she said quietly. "They have seen enough here. I will take care of the body; she will be removed to the temple until morning." The white-haired woman strode towards Lord Dornan, her small form dwarfed by Dornan's height...and yet she seemed to overwhelm him for a moment, her back straight and shoulders thrown back. "I will tell you, Lord Dornan; the gods are watching you, whether you pay honor to them or no. One day you will face what you've done, and I have not the faith in you that you might be able to bear it all."

Dornan's face hardened as he watched the healer turn and moved back to the body; Alysin gestured to the guard, and the man stepped forward; absently, he grabbed the hilt of the sword and yanked it free from Friya's body, wiping it on the grass offhandedly as the four house servants lifted the body between them and followed Alysin into the house. A figure broke off from the crowd and followed them, slump shouldered; Matthew glanced over his shoulder, his face nearly grey it was so pale, and then disappeared into the house with the healer.

Nivarra said tentatively, "Father..."

"Go." Dornan turned from them, his fists clenched at his sides. "You and your useless wizard, both of you; I will not have him cost me more slaves because he cannot follow a simple order. Keep him out of my sight, or by gods I'll simply kill him." So saying, the straight-backed lord of the manor stalked back towards the estate, leaving Sand and Nivarra alone on the lawn, watching the trail of servants being herded back into the house.

Nivarra's eyes fell on the blood staining the front of Sand's robes, his boots, his hands...they moved to the stained green grass beneath their feet, scarlet and glistening wet under the setting sunlight.

"My father," she said quietly, "Does not take no for an answer. Especially not from a woman...not from a slave." Her eyes were closed, flat, expressionless; she seemed almost dazed as she reached out, wiping the tip of a finger against the front of Sand's robes and rubbing the thick, viscous blood between her fingers. Her eyes flicked up to Sand's face, and she turned away. "Let's go inside, else the blood will dry on you."

Sand wordlessly followed her back; feeling numb except for a tiny seed of inexpressible rage that sat low in his middle. When they passed the bathing room, Sand tentatively reached out and touched her arm, jerking his head in that direction and indicating she should follow. When they were in the relative safety of the warm, steamy bath room, Sand pulled the bloodied robe from his body. "Be honest with me - has he _ever_ touched you in that way?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her as he began washing his hands, his blue eyes fiercely protective and the _geas_ humming happily in his chest.

Nivarra moved behind Sand, reaching around him and plunging her hands briefly into the water filed basin. She averted his gaze. "Not that it's any of your business, slave," she said sharply, "But...no. My father hardly had the time to speak to me, let alone..." Her voice clipped off, and she pressed her lips together, her eyes flicking to Sand's face irritably before she turned away. Flicking water from her hands she crossed the room to where piles of soft towels waited for bathers, and wrapped one around her hands, wiping them off.

"You may assuage your Neverwintian conscience," she said after a moment, her head bent down over her hands as they worked the cloth, "that however I may plot against my father, he most decidedly deserves much more than he would get away with at my hands. This is not the first time something like this has happened." She turned, and leaned against the far wall, watching Sand idly, her arms crossed over her narrow chest. "But if we succeed, it will most certainly be the last."

Sand dressed in a simple, clean set of robes. "The Blackmoon Traders should be here soon, mistress. Will they be meeting with only your father? With me? I don't think your father is too pleased with me at the moment but I do not think he will try anything with them present." He looked in the small mirror hanging on the wall and noticed how thin and hollow his face had become; his lips had taken on an odd blueish pallor and his eyes - beneath the usual quickness was a flicker of desperation. Sand absentmindedly fixed his black hair and then turned back to Nivarra. "Much success is riding upon my failure, it seems."

Nivarra pushed forward off the wall. "You're his lawyer, wizard; whether he's pleased with you or no, he will need you present regardless. And that means he needs me, as well; he can do anything else he likes with you, but he cannot control the _geas_." She combed her fingers through her own thin hair as she glanced in the mirror, and then primly took his arm. "Come; we should go see if they've arrived, slave. My father will be most anxious to have you present."

The hallways were nearly deserted, spattered only occasionally with haggard looking guards. There was a hushed preoccupation amongst the servants they passed; all of them kept their heads ducked in subservience when they caught sight of Nivarra, but more than a few pairs of eyes flickered to Sand's discreetly. One old man sweeping the stairs leading up to Lord Dornan's suites even managed to reach out, touching his fingers to Sand's elbow before they passed, his eyes warm, kind...and heavy with a deep, poorly hidden grief.

Dornan was waiting for them, all disheveledness of his earlier appearance gone. He was clean shaven, properly dressed, his face scrubbed clean, his light hair combed back from his forehead. He gave them both a stiff once-over with his eyes before gesturing them into the small study; a pair of plush, ornately carved couches faced each other in front of a fire, a small table the only thing between them on the thick carpeted floor. "The merchants are being admitted into the entrance hall as we speak. Sand, you will sit by me; Nivarra, pour wine for all of us, if you will." Dornan straightened his collar, pacing smoothly behind the long couch closest to him, while Nivarra slipped her arm from Sand's and moved to the side table, her shoulders held rigidly, tense.

A servant opened the door and announced, "The Blackmoon Traders, milord."

Sand stood warily by Dornan's side, watching as 'Jearl Stoffard', 'Fen Winhard' and 'Wescett Sorn' entered the room and brusque introductions were made. The trio looked completely unflappable, their faces serene like marble. When Dornan gestured for them all to sit, Sand sat on the couch to his right, keeping his body as far away as was possible from the man. Dornan made him undeniably nervous; Sand always felt as though he would be ready to strike out with his hands at any moment, his professional exterior a poor mask for the temper that lurked beneath.

_I see where Nivarra gets it from..._

Sand accepted the glass of wine from Nivarra as she made the rounds, catching her eyes. She looked unhappy - whether it was because she had been relegated to the role of serving girl or because of the events of the day, Sand couldn't tell. For Nivarra, it was probably one and the same. The elf gave a small nod to Dornan, indicating he was ready to begin.

Dornan's voice, when it came, was smooth and professional, tinged with warmth and a vague, grim sadness; ever the gracious host and grievously wronged upstanding aristocrat. "Friends," he began. "I have invited you here tonight in the hopes that we can settle this...matter that you have brought before the Magistrate in a peaceable, civilized way." The three figures seated across from him and the elf were perched regally and stiffly, the glasses politely held in curled fingers without any of them taking a drink. Dornan went on. "I am aware that the charges you have brought up are centered on old business dealings that I've had, most of them failures that resulted in the indentured servitude of the debtors. I feel that my intent in those ventures has been...quite terribly misconstrued." His voice was warm, earnest. "I have never, of course, intentionally pursued a venture that was made to fail, and I have acquired none of my servants through fraud or false pretenses."

The three faces in front of him remained impassive, expressionless. Dornan's voice took on a slight impatient tinge. "I asked you here, then, to offer you compensation for dropping your charges; and of course, to get to know your illustrious selves, that we may possibly conduct business together in the future."

"And what are you offering us?" asked 'Wescett', the firelight flickering over his dark-skinned face as he spoke.

"Fifteen bars of platinum," said Dornan softly, seriously. "For a start. As well as anything else you might require from my household." Dornan's eyes flicked only briefly to Nivarra where she stood behind the couch, her hands resting lightly on its high back; her fingers dug imperceptibly into the fabric as she felt his gaze, but she didn't look his way, her eyes remaining fixed on the three strangers across from them. "Name your price, gentleman and lady. I will be able to meet it, I assure you."

Doss spoke up. "You seem rather eager, my lord, to put this matter to rest."

Dornan merely arched a brow. "I am merely looking out for your 'company,' Miss Winhard. As it stands, this...'case' of yours will not go easily for you, if you decide to run this through to its fruition. I am an upstanding member of high society; I have an unblemished reputation as a businessman and I think you will have a difficult time making such outrageous charges...'stick', as they say." Dornan's voice was earnest, his expression softly patronizing. "Take the money, my friends. It is more than you would ever get out of this trial. I would hate to see such…promising young merchants come to ruin because of it."

Jearl smiled thinly. "I assure you, my lord, that we are quite confident in our ability to make these charges 'stick.'" He pulled a small roll of parchment from his elaborate, black and gold gilt tunic, and unrolled it unhurriedly, his gaze centered on Dornan's face as he did so. He saw the man's eyes narrow slightly, his mouth tighten, as Jearl held up the unrolled scrap of parchment; one of the many documents that Sand and Matthew stole from Dornan's room so many nights ago. "I see you recognize this, my lord," Jearl said softly. "We have many more like them; detailing the conduction of business with your current servants through merchant companies that do not seem to exist anywhere. Strange, that." The parchment was folded back into his tunic. "At least, that is what me and my compatriots thought, here. As it stands, I feel we must regretfully decline your generous offer." Jearl smiled at him. "And if there is nothing else, I suppose we shall see you at the trial."

Dornan's face was frighteningly chilled. "Get out."

They went, Doss tossing one meager backwards glance at Sand before the three figures disappeared out the door, the sound of their steps echoing off the flagstones. The encounter had been brief...and yet the look on Dornan's face would make it seem as if they had been at it for hours, his face lined, haggard...coldly furious.

"Nivarra."

She moved in front of him, her eyes blank. "Yes father."

"Tell me...I am curious to know how these 'merchants' have very personal, very secure documents of mine that until this night I assumed were in a place no person could retrieve them from."

Nivarra's eyes flickered uncertainly, but she maintained her straight backed posture. "I don't know, father." A tinge of acid crept into her voice. "Remember, you removed my authority over the guards; I no longer have access to their reports."

He was up faster than a bolt of lightening, striking her hard across the cheek; Nivarra stumbled back, the small table catching her beneath her knees and sending her tumbling to the ground before the fire. She lay still, her breath coming heavy, as she heard her father walk forward and stand over her.

Dornan's eyes flicked to Sand. "You have work to do, wizard," he said sharply. "They have evidence of the most incriminating kind...find a loophole! You will not rest until you are absolutely confident that you can defend me to the Magistrate." His eyes turned back down to Nivarra. "Now go, _daughter_. Leave us."

Sand watched Nivarra's disappearing back, a suddenly longing to be going with her instead of staying with her father. The elf sat as impassively as he could on the couch, saying, "I need to know what that evidence was, my Lord, if I am to counter it or find a loophole. We do not know yet who will be serving as their lawyer either; I will try to find out before the trial but this they may keep hidden from us to keep us unprepared."

He rubbed his face. "For now, my Lord, I need you to tell me everything so I can defend you against everything. The worst thing you can do is keep things hidden from me and then have me be surprised by it when we're in front of the Magistrate. Hiding information from your Counselor never looks favorable, Lord Dornan."

Dornan's eyes glittered narrowly at Sand as he sat, reaching for his wine glass. He took a long drink, loosening his collar impatiently before sitting back. "Very well," he said evenly.

And he described the entire thing. How he would register new trading companies under anonymous personas. How he would approach his business partners, describing his plans for investing in said companies, even claiming to be willing to put forth money of his own; and of course, he would cover his partners part of the investment until such a time came that they turned a profit and were able to repay him. "There were nearly a dozen companies, if I recall," he said offhandedly, swirling wine around in his glass. "All new, bright prospects; they invested without question, confident in my glowing reports of their favorable turn around."

It, of course, had all gone sour; Dornan was merely investing in himself, and when he returned to all of his partners, aggrieved, his fortunes "suffering mightily", as he had told them, he of course had to reclaim the debts that they all owed him. None of them could pay; and under Luskan's laws, they had to mete out their debts through servitude, virtual slavery...or resign themselves to the galleys of trade ships, chained to an oar. "Some of them chose the docks, the ships," he said caustically. "I could never fathom why. Luskan is no pauper's paradise; I offered them a roof over their heads, food, clothing, shelter. These young people, with their ridiculous views on how the world should be!" He shook his head irately, draining his glass and reaching for one of the other, untouched goblets left by the three merchants. "You survive, or you don't; there is no justice to speak of. Those who believe so end up dying quickly and painfully, in this city."

His dark eyes flashed to Sand, his mouth grim. "They have evidence, these traders, that I committed fraud when creating these trading companies my partners invested in. Details of every company, accounting charts, paperwork sent to me by the Registrar; for every company created under whatever persona I used, there was a paper trail, and that paper trail was kept locked and safely hidden away until recently." He leaned forward suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "Tell me true, wizard...what is my daughter's role in all of this?" His voice lowered, but an edge of steel slipped into it. "Is she trying to kill me?"

Sand jerked back at Dornan's sudden movement. "Nivarra? She was as surprised as you, my Lord, when the charges were brought forth. We spent the day at the Archives researching; her suspicions of the Blackmoon Traders run deep but we have no other information about them to go on. Which may be part of the suspicion." He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "I won't deny that... I am certain your demise would please the girl greatly. But she has waited all these years; she can wait the additional years. But the audacity of breaking into your personal files and stealing documents and such? From what I can see, that is not her style. She is one to take advantage of opportunities; not make them herself."

Sand emptied his wine glass and set the goblet down with a gentle click. The lies were easy; Sand realized the longer he was in Luskan, the more easily he slipped into the appropriate persona. "She has vested interest in seeing a favorable outcome here as well my Lord. Such a loss in terms of slaves and finances would not bode well for her... lifestyle of privilege."

"Hmmm." Dornan watched the elf for a long moment before sitting back, sipping on the glass in his hands. "True, the girl doesn't have an ounce of favorable skill in her body; I doubt she would survive long in poverty." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, wizard slave, what strikes me as curious is that the documents the traders seem to have in their possession are also, currently, snugly in their...hiding place." His mouth hardened as he studied Sand momentarily; the elf's face was impassive, sharp, his gaze as calculating and wary as that of his daughter's...

He waved his hand dismissively. "Go. Find what you can; we appear before the courts tomorrow, apparently, and I will not be thrown into prison because my lawyer was ill prepared." He turned and faced the fire, turning away from Sand.

Sand bowed. "Yes Lord Dornan," and quickly exited the sitting room. He stood for a moment at the doorway, his mind racing. What had he done for the Knight Captains for Ember? Wyrmsage, gnomish werewolves, dryads, a friendly overlarge spider, goblins, Elgun -

_Witnesses._

He needed to know if any of the slaves had been approached to be witnesses by the Moonstars; if so, he would have to coach them. He made his way confidently through the halls, the guards no longer bothering to stop him until he was down in the servants' quarters. There were familiar faces here; many eyes were red rimmed and they looked up as they saw him. He kept his voice steady. "I am...very sorry for what happened today. I am sorry I couldn't stop it. But I am here at the behest of Lord Dornan." Sand gave them a pointed look, his mouth pressed in a thin, firm line. "Some of you may be approached by the Blackmoon Traders to testify. I'd just like to know what you'd say so _I can prepare._"

There was a shuffling from the back of the room, and Matthew walked forward from the shadows; his face was drawn, greyish in pallor, his eyes swollen and inordinately bright. He walked forward on steady feet and sat down lightly in a free chair at the end of the long table, gesturing Sand over.

"Torman, Brenkle, Carelin...come here, sit down." Three of the servants detached themselves from various small groups huddled throughout the room and approached. All three were older humans, well into their midlives, and all carried an air about them that smacked of resigned regality and grim defeat. "These three," said Matthew quietly, "Were the first to fall into business with Dornan. There was one other, Braley von Heismer, who was married to the man owing Dornan a debt, and she took his place in Dornan's service when the man died, much like I've done with my father's debts." Matthew's face twisted sourly. "She died some years ago."

"Much the same way that Friya went," said Carelin, her brown eyes tinged with quiet fury. "His Lordship caught an eye for her, and we're supposin' she tried to fight back; found her beaten near unrecognizable on the stairs one morning, and the guards just shuffled her off and kept it quiet."

"It's happened more times than I'd like to remember," muttered the man beside her; his tanned, lined face looked exotic despite the servants trappings covering his body, his narrow, elegant eyes slanted over high cheekbones. "Torman, if you please, wizard. We've been here the longest; Doss figured we'd be the best to bring into this mess."

Brenkle, a slightly stooped man that leaned on a gnarled cane, shook his head. "Been here since Dornan was merely a young buck, and that mistress of yours just a cryin' child clutchin' her mother's skirts. I've seen too much, wizard. Tell us what we need to say." All three of them watched Sand expectantly, their tired faces lightened by the smallest glimmer of hope.

Sand steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowed and staring up thoughtfully. "Every good lawyer first tries to discredit the witness. I will be asking you about your years of service here, how often you were whipped, sent to the cell - I will be attempting to paint the portrait that you are testifying out of a desire for revenge, all right? You must get the Moonstars' lawyer to get the punishment records and show that you were punished no more than the other servants; in fact, see if you can't convince the Magistrate that you all were model slaves and have no real reasons for revenge, especially after so many years in service."

Sand splayed his hands out on the table in front of him, studying his fingers in the dim candlelight. "The Moonstars will have to make the connection between the anonymous person running the business and Dornan himself. They should be able to do that; but the question of how they got the papers and the legitimacy of the papers will undoubtedly come into question..." Sand glanced around. "What ever did you do with Dornan's drugged and sleeping personal servants?"

Eyes flickered as the servants glanced at one another, and Matthew 's face split into a grin after a moment. "We emptied a few of the wine bottles in that cellar we kept them in and dragged them out into the grounds, positioning them in the bushes. We...ah...made it look like they stumbled out there under their own power." Matthew cleared his throat, having the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. "You know, made it look like they...drank a bit too much wine and...ended up out there."

For a moment, the serious, somber mood broke over the four servants and they all chuckled. "They still can't look each other in the eye, have you noticed?" Torman smiled tiredly.

"That woman still flinches when she pours the wine at Lord Dornan's dinner."

Carelin sobered the mood once again. "I don't think the estate keeps records of punishments," she said thoughtfully. "But Lord Dornan is known for hiring poor off the street to do a days work inside his grounds; he has a reputation for it. We might use that to our advantage, and simply claim that we were never mistreated to such an extent as to want revenge. Matthew..."

"I'll pass it on to Doss when I see her tomorrow morning," the young man responded wearily. "They've been having troubles finding someone versed in legalities to represent them; at the moment they're self representing, but I know Jearl is holding out on finding a Counselor before the trial. It would look better on them, having an official lawyer bring their case up; more professional and less personal. And personal attacks on the aristocracy just aren't held with, in this city."

Brenkle's lined face was furrowed in thought. "The healers," he finally said. "Most of the time they're kept quiet, but if anyone would know what kind of treatment Dornan's slaves receive, it would be them." The man's mouth twisted bitterly. "They have to clean up the mess afterwards, after all."

Matthew nodded. "A good suggestion. Anything else you can think of Sand? Tomorrow's our last chance to get any word to Doss and the others before the trial." Matthew's eyes were somewhat desperate...his thought touched Sand's. _There's an incredible uprising of hope among everyone, Sand; if this trial fails, it will crush them. We've got to give them whatever we can._

Sand kept his eyes on his hands and the woodgrain visible between his fingers. _It can't fail. I've been ordered by Nivarra to lose the case...It mustn't fail. _

"Yes. Get to the healers if you can. Tell them they do not have to fear Dornan's wrath because if all goes well, this entire estate will be dissolved in two days time and Dornan brought to the justice he deserves." It seemed as though when he needed to think clearly the most, his mind was jumbled full of thoughts and plots. Dornan. The slaves. The Brotherhood. Nivarra. The Nightbringer. Birren. The Moonstars. Beneath it all still stalked the wretched pain of being separated from Torio; he missed her laugh, her merciless teasing, her Elvish words...

"Let us hope they can find a lawyer by then because it will not go well for my reputation if I lose to mere merchants." He gave them a wry smile. "These...trading companies - were the sort of companies that the Red Dragon should know about? Being the most powerful trading company in Luskan? Would it not be suspicious that the Red Dragon didn't know anything of a supposedly favorable company?"

Carelin blinked at him. "Not a bad point," she said slowly. "Aye, anyone who is anyone in this city had dealings with the Red Dragon; you can hardly spit without it landing on a deal of theirs being made."

"An attractive analogy," Torman said dryly.

"She's right, though. And so's the elf; they'd know something about new companies being formed in the city, especially as many as Dornan's supposed to have 'founded.'" Brenkle eyed Sand through squinted lids. " It's a complicated business, these companies; easy for the little ones to get lost in the cracks, but sometimes the Red Dragon knows more about this city than the Overmage." The man snorted. "Hells, some days they seem to know more about this city than the gods themselves. So if something comes up that they don't know about, and they should?" Brenkle nodded slowly. "Aye, that would look suspicious as all the hells."

Sand stood, straightening his robes. "Well have a care when sending someone to the Red Dragon. Birren is a friend of Dornan's - but Birren controls only the guards and such. There are others there who would benefit greatly if Dornan were to fall. Use that to your advantage." He moved to the door, lost in thought. "Do not discuss anything amongst yourselves. From now on you must consider yourselves being watched at every instance. Take care, friends. I shall see you at the Trial."

He walked swiftly back up through the house, his steps purposeful, towards Nivarra's room.

* * *

There was nothing but blackness, dark and dank, cold, as if she were in a place that the sun had never kissed. Nivarra couldn't move her feet, and yet she had the irresistible urge to walk, move, run away...she glanced down, and saw that her feet were encased in stone up to her ankles.

_Daughter..._

The voice chilled her, frightened her; it tugged at the very bits and pieces of _her_ that she had left, her humanity and identity and everything that made her Lady Nivarra of Luskan, and yet the voice was irresistible. She reached out to it...

She vaguely heard the door to her room being opened and shut again as someone entered. She awoke, abruptly, the sheets and blankets twisted impossibly on her bed from her restless thrashing. Sand was entering the room, and she swallowed hard, pushing her damp hair back from her forehead, her skin clammy to her touch.

"My father," she asked messily after a moment, her voice still thick with sleep and fear. "What did he say?"

Sand sat on the edge of the bed, the thick bedclothes depressing slightly under his weight. "He told me everything about his business practices, his schemes. He...also wanted to know about you, mistress. But I deflected his questions well enough; he seems no more suspicious of us other than the usual Luskan wariness." Sand leaned in closer, his voice hushed as if her father were currently outside the door. "Any word from the Brotherhood?"

Nivarra sat up fully, her face smoothing over, the tired lines around her eyes relaxing into a cold, blank mask. "Nothing, yet. I suspect Master Vergo will enjoy drawing this out as much as he can; they would never give the pretense of being overeager, especially not for a talentless aristocrat." Her voice was twisted bitterly as she leaned back against the headboard. "That girl this evening was a lucky stroke, I suppose; it seemed to have shaken my father enough that he doesn't seem to be looking too closely at anything for the time being."

She pursed her lips, eyeing Sand speculatively. "I think for this evening you can safely refrain from concentrating on my father's list of spells; he would excuse such a lapse when his neck is on the line, as it stands."

Sand nodded his thanks to Nivarra. "I appreciate it, mistress." He hesitated then slowly undressed, dropping his robe onto the nearby chair and slipping under the covers, the sheets warm against his skin. He glanced at her face in the dark, his eyes making out the slight reddish bruise on her cheek from Dornan's hand. He was nervous - without a doubt. There was so much riding on the outcome tomorrow; his stomach was turning over even as he nestled into the bed. "Well...good night, mistress."

Nivarra sat up for a few moments longer, staring at the darkened room around them. It was all coming to fruition; and she resolutely ignored the bitter taste of fear at the back of her throat. She had worked too hard to lose this chance due to her own human frailty and fear of seizing this opportunity. It happened to lesser, weaker creatures; they reached near perfection only to turn aside from it, afraid of what such power might make them become, how it might change them. _You can't afford such weakness._

She breathed deeply, and slithered back under the covers, nestling up against the elf's body. She was suddenly and unreasonably grateful for the fates granting her such a boon; a sharp, intelligent creature at her very beck and call, able to manipulate the raw, magical power she so desperately needed. _How much of this would never have been possible without this very wizard making it happen for you?_

Her arms slid around him, and she pressed her body against his back, shutting her eyes. "Good night...Sand."


	36. Chapter 36

**Volume 3, Chapter 36: Met**

Torio had no idea how long she spent bent over the table; she became aware enough of her surroundings once to light a few candles around the room, and gather herself something to eat, her longer legs causing her a few missteps over the floorboards. She was able to neatly tuck her hair behind her ears, a far cry better from the shorter strands of her own hair constantly falling in her eyes.

It seemed painfully obvious what Lord Dornan had been doing for years, although the man managed to cover his tracks fairly well. More than half of the servants in his house were indentured; he would most assuredly go to prison if only for the mere scope of his crime, and how many lives it had affected, and all of those people, freed...The estate would be practically empty.

Despite the fact that her candles were burning low, she still felt wide awake, her mind mulling over the words she would say, the facts of the case, the arguments she would make. She forced herself to move to a cot, remove her armor; her feet reached farther down the small bed and she stretched languidly, staring at the ceiling.

_Gods know how I'll ever be able to sleep..._

And then before she knew it, she was opening her eyes; the candles were burnt down to nothing, and the wall at the top of the stairs was opening...

Maxxil was hurrying down the stairs, a bundle of clean clothes in his arms. "Wake up! Big day, big day." His voice sounded confident and cheerful. "There's a bathing tub behind that partition there, no time to warm up the water though." He left the clothes on the table.

"How do you feel, girl? Your carriage will be here within the hour. Our spies report that Dornan's already on the move to the Courthouse." He ran his fingers through the tangles in his beard. "We've seen the elf. He looks healthy, which is, more than I can say about many of those under the employ of Dornan and Nivarra."

Torio took a deep breath as she pushed herself from the cot, rubbing her eyes blearily. _They'd seen him....by gods, he was here, they were doing this, this was actually happening. _She tried not to move too eagerly as she stepped around the partition, her mind churning with nervousness and anxiety and...almost an excitement. "I'm prepared as I'll ever be." She quirked her mouth in a slight smile. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll be ready to leave."

The bath was, as promised, cool and unsatisfying, but at least the water cleaned her off. She reached for the clothing, sliding into simple robes that were elegant, but rather plain, no outlandish ornamentation or embroidery. She tied the sash around her waist and stepped back around the partition, combing her smooth, straight hair around her face. "How do I look? Like a triumphant and self-righteously vindicated lawyer?"

Maxxil laughed. "Eh, you look more like it than I ever would. Not that I would ever set foot in a Luskan courtroom." While she had been bathing, he had packed up all the paperwork and now he handed her a leather satchel, pushing her none too gently towards the stairs. His head bobbed at waist level as he trotted beside her. "Hurry now! There's food for you in the carriage. We don't want Dornan bribing the Magistrate before we get there. We've filled the gallery with as many of our agents as possible already but who knows what backdoor deals Dornan's already set up."

The plain carriage was awaiting Torio at the entrance of the shop, the driver opening the door and helping her in quietly. The wheelwright stood on tiptoe and hissed through the window. "Tymora and Tyr and all them gods and goddesses be with you. One of the agents will contact you after the trial, win or lose. If you can't get to Sand, we can still hide you from Neverwinter's wrath, if that is your fear. You can stay Ednia Rexall for the rest of your life, if it so pleases you."

There weren't enough words in her head left for anything but the upcoming trial, and so she merely whispered back, "Thank you," before the carriage pulled away.

She stared straight ahead of her for the first few moments, her mind buzzing, her fingers clutched the edge of the satchel so hard that the thin threading through the leather imprinted small criss-crossed marks across her palms. She managed to swallow down some bread and cheese, and emptied the flask of water set out for her on the opposite seat; the food hung heavily in her stomach, but it would do no good to pass out onto the courtroom floor.

The carriage stopped, and she could feel her blood rushing as the driver opened the door for her and helped her out. The posture she struck as she walked through the masses of people to the Courthouse doors was habitual; thrown back shoulders, a regal tilt to her chin, so well-practiced that it was almost second nature, and yet she could feel the blood draining from her face, only to return moments later in a flush. As she stepped through the doors, she couldn't help reaching out, tentatively, wordlessly, towards Sand, trying to catch his thoughts in her own, see if he was near...

There was nothing. Even as she walked down the hallway, nothing. He had to be close, she was sure of it. It was with a puzzled frown that she caught sight of three figures dressed in elegant black robes, all bearing the same crest. They turned as one, and smiled at her politely, shallow introductions being made all around, and yet they all looked at her with knowing eyes.

_Why isn't Sand answering?_ The buzz at the back of her mind that was always Sand's presence, whenever he was close enough, was gone.

"It's time," said the russet-haired half-elf called 'Fen', and gave Torio a quick wink. "Open and shut case, Counselor Ednia. Shall we?"

The tall, bald, dark-skinned man opened the door, and together, the four of them entered the courtroom.

* * *

Sand woke first. The skies were still dark but peaks of pinks and oranges could be seen in the east, the air in Nivarra's chambers cool. The girl was pressed up against him, her arm strangely comforting around his waist. Sand pressed his face into his pillow for a few minutes, taking steadying breaths. Not even out of bed yet and his heart was already hammering in his chest.

He actually hadn't been this nervous for the Knight Captain's trial. They had had all the evidence, he had known about Torio and her tactics, and his motivation had been solely to win. Plus - there had always been the Trial by Combat as a contingency plan.

Here, things were decidedly more difficult and confusing and it was all being done under the watchful eye of the Brotherhood of the Arcane. Too many people were observing him; too many people were depending on him. He rolled over so that he was facing the girl. "Mistress - it's our big day..."

Nivarra's eyes opened slowly; they were hollowed out, dark shadows circling them despite the full night's rest they both had had. She seemed strained for some odd reason, and as she sat up and rubbed her face lightly with one hand, the hunch of her shoulders and set of her jaw were obvious indications that she was nervous as well.

"All right," she said after a moment. "Get dressed; meet me downstairs once you're prepared. I have to go speak with my father." She stood shakily from the bed and slipped a housecoat over her shift before padding softly to the door, disappearing out of the room.

The maidservant entered a few moments later, and not seeing her mistress, moved to Sand's bedside and briefly snatched his hands squeezing it. "They say to tell you, 'Good luck,'" she whispered quietly, and then moved away almost immediately, slipping to the wardrobe and pulling out clothing for Nivarra to change in to once she returned.

Sand's heart warmed at the maidservant's simple gesture of kindness and he slipped into the bathing chamber. He eyed the rows of soaps until he finally settled on a bar that smelled like mint. There were no bars of soaps that smelled of books and candlewax; he would have to settle for the next best thing, he supposed. A formal set of dress robes were laid out for him and Sand fingered the intricate blue embroidery on black silk and velvet.

The robes probably cost more than a slave's entire salary for the year.

He finished bathing and dressing and returned to his chambers. Vials of potions sat waiting and ready and he picked up a small bottle of Eagle's Splendor. If he could, he would slip this to whoever was opposing him. Sand inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and focusing all his thoughts for a moment before leaving the room and looking for Nivarra.

Nivarra returned to her room after ensuring her father was awake and prepared, and let her maidservant bathe her and dress her, her own movements slow and sluggish. She was dressed elegantly and simply, her long hair twisted neatly at the crown of her head, her slippers delicate and embroidered, but flat against the ground.

A servant entered just as she stood to leave. "Mistress, this message...it just came for you."

Her heart nearly froze in her throat as she fumbled with the sealed parchment, unfolding the small scrap of paper. One word, scrawled in elegant handwriting beneath the seal of the Hosttower of the Arcane; _Yes._

She gripped the edge of her chair for a moment, her knuckles white "Thank you; you may go." She crumpled the parchment in her fist before holding it over a flickering candle flame, watching as the paper curled in on itself, blackening and dissolving into small charred scraps.

Five minutes later, she was sweeping down the halls; Sand was waiting for her at the front door, looking insensibly calm. She could hear footsteps behind her down the hallway; _her father_.

The man himself appeared; Lord Dornan looked clean and sharp and ready for the entire Hosttower if he need face them. "Shall we?" he asked sardonically.

Sand waited until Lord Dornan had passed and then offered his arm to Nivarra. She took it silently and they followed her father out the front door, down the steps to the waiting carriage. The ride to the Luskan Superior Courts was silent and tense. Nivarra was clutching his arm so hard he was sure she was going to leave a bruise; Dornan had his arms crossed and was staring out the window.

Yes he was their slave but at the moment he held both their futures in his palm. Sand actually surreptitiously glanced down at his hands. How many orcs and dire beasts and thugs had he killed with these two hands? He had lost count but at the time it had been relatively easy. After all, they had been charging at him with sword or spell, claw or tooth, murder on their minds and death on their lips. Now he was plotting with a daughter to send her own father very likely to his death. Deep down Sand knew he deserved to die - oh yes, there had never been any doubt there. Justice was desperately needed here - for Friya, for all those who had died, for all those still in servitude. And yet for some reason, the skulking about with the Hosttower, agreeing to lose the trial ahead of time - it just made the justice seem dirty somehow.

Sand was jolted from his thoughts as the carriage stopped. It might have been dirty but they were in Luskan and the only justice to be had here was tainted. If it was the best they would get, he would take it and embrace it. His spiral into Luskan was continuing unabated.

The Court house was before them, tall straight pillars representing the upholding of law and righteousness and Sand chuckled quietly to himself. Perhaps elsewhere but here, the pillars might as well have been crumbling, twisted and bloodstained. The grey marble and granite of the building was gleaming in the morning sun; the steps in front of the large wooden doors were a bustle of activity from robed or shackled figured entering or exiting. Dornan was walking straight towards the doors, his back straight and proud and Sand followed, still on Nivarra's arm.

The Halls of Justice stretched long before them; the building in itself was expansive, holding multiple court rooms, chambers for justicars and magistrates in the upper levels...and prisons in the lower. The guards barracks surrounded the east and south wings, and on the western courtyard, facing the sea, was a permanently erected gallows, waiting patiently for trial outcomes and convicted criminals.

It all gave the appearance of highly-polished, self-righteous, fully maintained justice. The magistrates were immaculately clothed in the dark robes of their office, and a few official justicars could be seen, their cleric's robes shining with the flat-palmed hand of Tyr emblazoned on the front.

Nivarra caught the whispered conversations in corners, the smug expressions, the underhanded deals being made just outside courtrooms where justice was supposed to rule unbesmirched. Her mouth twitched in cold amusement; she was nervous, uneasy, almost nauseated, but underneath it was a stirring excitement.

Today her father would forever be removed from her shadow; it would all be hers...

And tonight, the new moon would be rising invisible in the sky.

They were ushered, once recognized, to a set of double doors at the far end of the hallway, and told to wait until the magistrate called them in. Dornan's face was slightly pale, but he maintained his cool, confident demeanor, refusing the option of sitting on one of the long waiting benches and remaining on his feet. Nivarra sat, pulling Sand down with her. "Father," she said quietly, almost gently, the part of concerned daughter fitting over her like a glove, "You should prepare what you're going to say; they will undoubtedly call you up to the stand. Sand will not be able to speak for you the entire time."

Dornan's eyes fell on Sand's face momentarily. "Very well," he said slowly. "What do you _advise_ I say to them wizard?"

Sand looked as earnestly as he could into the eyes of the man he was about to condemn to die. Or at least rot in the cells for a very long time. "Keep it short and as sincere as possible. You must emphasize that a business man like you with a family would never put his entire life at risk; that someone like you with your experience and savvy would have been successful without having to resort to less savory means." The advice was sound but Sand was hoping that Dornan's arrogance would shine through and sway the Magistrate in the other direction. "But my Lord, you may say whatever you think will best serve your defence."

Nivarra watched her father's face; he merely examined Sand for a moment, his expression considering, before finally he nodded. She wondered if her father ever considered the wisdom of trusting his fate to the hands of an enslaved house-wizard who was firmly under the control of his "loyal" daughter. He had given control over Sand to her as a gift...or at least he had called it a gift...without question, never doubting that his own daughter was firmly under his heel.

_The last mistake you'll ever make, father._

The double doors at their side opened, and a rather twitchy looking clerical assistant bobbed to them in a half-bow. "You are early," he said anxiously. "Please, come in. Your magistrate will be here a little late. The Blackmoon Traders have not arrived yet."

He held the door open wide for them to enter.

Sand followed the assistant through the doors into the courtroom. His blue eyes instantly took in the entire room. A tall vaulted ceiling rose high above them. The gallery for the audience was slowly filling with curious and morbid onlookers and Sand remembered the role of the people during the trial for Ember. So much for divine justice when Nasher (and apparently Tyr) could be so easily swayed by fickle, idiotic people who had no appreciation for his skill or talents.

Sand directed Dornan to a small seat, separated from the rest of the chairs by a wooden enclosure. A mere formality, really. The short swinging wooden door would not stop any determined criminal from making a rather violence mess of the Courtroom if he had really wanted to but Sand knew the chair was seeped with magics that would keep the accused in place, unable to be harmed or do harm, during the proceedings. "Mistress Nivarra, the courts may require you to sit in the public gallery behind your father since you are not technically, legally, party to the proceedings. But if you wish to sit beside me, you may have to pretend you are my assistant and take notes or something."

Nivarra gave Sand a long, smooth look, half-way considering...but her face was well known amongst many of the people now crowding the galleries, and she drew her pride around her as if it were a tangible garment worn around her thin shoulders. "I'll sit in the gallery; close enough for if you need me," she said coolly; her eyes caught Sand's for a moment, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before turning and finding a seat behind her father's small seatbox, settling down and waiting.

Sand turned back to the table facing the front, his notes before him. Out of a nervous habit, he began shuffling them, re-ordering them, straightening them until he had neat rows of paper before him which would be instantly disturbed the minute the trial started.

Why was he so nervous when his successful failure was guaranteed?

His eyes darted to the doorway opposite from him, where the Moonstars agents would be entering soon and his fingers toyed with the vial of potion. He would try to slip it to their agent perhaps before closing arguments, during a recess in the proceedings.

Dornan was sitting quietly in the box, with a pinched strained expression as if this trial were a mere inconvenience to him for today; Nivarra, ever the doting daughter, was fussing properly behind him. The galleries were nearly full - who here was from the Brotherhood?

A loud bang of an opening door pulled him from his thoughts and he watched a tall red-headed woman enter across from him.


	37. Chapter 37

**Volume 3, Chapter 37: The Trial of A Wealthy Man  
**

And then she was in the courtroom.

Torio's heart, as she feared, stopped at a full, screeching halt and then started again at a thundering speed the moment her eyes fell on the dark-haired elf that sat next to Dornan's seat box. His head was bent over sheaves of parchment that were stacked neatly into small little piles; he looked up when they entered, his eyes falling on her, and she nearly lost it all...

His face was carved with a faint, sharp wariness and pained resignation she had never seen before...but she recognized it readily enough. His mouth...she remembered his mouth had always been supple, mobile, easily turned into a frown or a smile or (more readily) a smirk...and yet it was merely pressed into a hard, flat line, along with a cold, unfamiliar glitter in his brilliant eyes that made him nearly unrecognizable. He was thinner, his posture tensed, as if constantly expecting an attack.

Her face was impassive, her heart bursting, as she glanced at his much beloved form coolly before taking her place next to the three Moonstar agents-turned-merchants. She pressed her hands flat against their wide podium; even flattened against the wood surface, they were trembling visibly. A part of her, somewhere deep inside the recesses of her mind, sighed as if in a release..._Sand..._

Her eyes flicked, briefly, to the dark-haired woman that sat immediately behind them, who was currently leaning over the parapet to whisper to Dornan. Her insides seized coldly. _Nivarra._

A bored voice intoned from the side of the judges seat, "All rise for his Holiness, Magistrate and Justicar of Tyr, Zaherin Wyn."

A thin, hook-nosed man entered the courtroom amidst the shuffling of multitudes of people getting to their feet. Torio sat with the others as soon as the judge took his seat, his eyes taking in Sand, Dornan, and Torio and the three Moonstars all at once.

"This hearing is now in session; we will hear the charges..." here, the hook-nosed profile nodded in her direction, "…and then the defense will be given a chance to state their case before we call the witnesses. Counselor..." The judge looked down at something sitting on his podium in front of him, "...Ednia, you may proceed."

Torio swallowed hard, and stepped down onto the courtroom floor, her shoulders squared; she turned to encompass the entire gallery in her grey-eyed gaze, and began to speak.

* * *

Sand watched their counselor - Ednia was it? - lay out the charges to the courts. Sand placed her age at about 40 years old so she definitely was an experienced speaker and lawyer and it showed. He was instantly impressed by her, which said a lot since he was instantly impressed by no one - she had a certain theatricality to her movements and speech, addressing not only the Magistrate but the entire gallery.

She reminded him of Torio.

The alluring sway of the hips, the pointed gestures, the sharp laugh, the head held high, shoulders thrown back, even her eyes were the right color - clear and grey and astute...

_Why don't you sleep with _**_her_**_ too, Sand?_

Sand shook his head lightly and continued to scribble notes as he listened to her. Nothing of what she was saying was a surprise and Sand found himself beginning to make small doodles on the parchment in front of him as he listened to some of his arguments being repeated to him.

She finished and sat and the people in the galleries rumbled quietly; he risked a look at her. She was watching him expectantly, her gaze challenging, and he was standing even as the Magistrate invited him to make his counterarguments.

_Remember - you're here to lose._

"Thank you Magistrate and Justicar of Tyr and the fine people of Luskan." Sand bowed low to the Magistrate. "These allegations are a farce, my Lord. I mean to show you the innocence of this man, reputable business man and father, and the falsehood of the allegations against him. The evidence of Counselor Rexall of the Blackmoon Traders is a transparent, ill-conceived ploy to destroy the life of one of Luskan's most respected traders."

Torio could feel her eyebrows shooting up on mocking incredulity as Sand's words...it was all reflex, a dance she had performed many times before, and it was almost a relief to sink into old habits; her heart still pounded against her ribcage like a wild animal just _looking_ at him. His tone was so comfortingly familiar that for a moment she felt back at the Knight Captain's trial, her indignation and repressed admiration mounting as the elf twisted words and the crowd almost as good as she...

"We shall see. The evidence hardly even needs me to speak for it; I could simply let Magistrate Wyn examine it at his leisure and decide a guilty verdict before supper, if I wasn't so determined to see justice done here today...as are all the good people of Luskan, I see." Her tone was wry, and a few snickers and short gales of laughter could be heard over the whispering crowd. She could see it in all their faces; the eager postures, the knowing smiles, the hushed, whispered conversations. Luskan loved the downfalls of highly placed figures, and sometimes orchestrated downfalls on perfectly innocent people when there was a shortage of guilty ones.

The Magistrate gave her a shrewd look before calling for order; the whispers died down, and his voice rang clear through the courtroom. "I call to the stand Carelin DeMarco, servant to Lord Dornan."

There was the sound of multitudes of shifting bodies as the gallery turned to watch Carelin walk into the courtroom and move to the center of the floor. She turned and stood, facing the sea of eyes, her eyes flicking to Sand's face momentarily...and then, almost as an afterthought, she looked at Torio as well, her face calm and relaxed. The Magistrate waved a hand at Sand. "You may proceed with questioning, Counselor."

Sand threw his hands up incredulously. "Surely, my Lord - how can one expect to hear the truth from a slave in Lord Dornan's home? Her motivations - namely her freedom - should be a conflict of interest to the courts and I would like that put on the record." He paced in front of her for a moment before spinning on his heels and facing her. "Yes, let's speak on that for a moment. You are here on behalf of the Blackmoon Traders, are you not?"

Carelin shrugged slightly. "I don't know who summoned me here but I couldn't very well refuse now, could I? Sure beats a day at work."

Sand raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so you admit that you don't enjoy working for Lord Dornan. Could you have helped bring these charges forward as an act of revenge against a strict taskmaster?"

The Magistrate interrupted, "Caution, Sand. That woman is not on trial today and you best have proof of your accusations."

Sand bowed obsequiously. "Of course, my Lord. But I was merely hoping to root out the true reasons for these false allegations. So, please, madam DeMarco, what is it like, working for Lord Dornan? Remember, the eye of Tyr is watching you..."

Carelin tilted her head slightly at him, her eyes keen. "He's the master and I'm the slave. What do you think working for him is like? It is tough but we have a roof over our head and we're fed three times a day, like clockwork. There are rules and if we misbehave, we get whipped but he has a cleric on hand to heal us always."

Sand walked towards the table where he had his notes. "So are you trying to tell me that you never had a thought of revenge when being punished? That you and the others never tried to come up with some plan of escape?"

Her voice took a coy edge. "Are you trying to tell me that _you_ were never angry when _you_ were whipped or caned, counselor Sand? Besides, this...fancy trial business is much too complicated for me. Me, if I had wanted to escape, I probably would have just made a run for it."

The crowd was murmuring and Sand could feel a prickly heat building on his cheeks as she brought up his own punishments.

_Oh but this was too perfect..._

He waved his hands dismissively at her. "My dear girl, my own personal feelings are irrelevant. I have no further questions, your Honor."

Torio was stepping forward as smooth as liquid once more, although Fen's hand had pressed briefly on hers as her fingers had twitched in a spasmodic, clenched fist. _They had whipped him..._

_Of course they did, what do you expect? You were here barely two days before you felt the kiss of knotted leather across your back..._

She cleared her throat, casting Sand a scathing look, her voice addressing the gallery around them. "Why any well-protected slave would risk their master's wrath by bringing him to _trial,_ of all things, is beyond me. Three meals a day, Carelin? A roof over your head? These are luxuries many aren't afforded in this city; and perhaps Lord Dornan kept you well treated for a reason. He was obviously too fearful of letting you out of his sight, lest you learn the truth of your indentured servitude and expose his plotting." Torio shook her head almost sadly. "Which was in vain, I'm afraid, for we are here to expose his treachery, finally."

The Magistrate's voice was amusedly irritated. "Are you going to _question_ the witness any time soon, Counselor?"

"Of course, your Honor," she said smoothly. "Carelin, please detail to the most honorable courts the nature of your business investment with Lord Dornan." She moved to the podium where the three Moonstar agents still sat, and snatched up one small scrap of parchment. "Some fifteen years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said amiably. "Although the time has really flown, to be honest."

There was a ripple of laughter, and Wyn banged the podium for silence once again.

Torio's mouth twitched in a smile. "I'm glad you can say that, my dear woman; you might think differently once you've learned the truth." Her eyes scanned the small registrar parchment in her hands. "It says here that yourself and Lord Dornan invested jointly in...the Serpentine River Company?" Her eyebrows rose as she glanced at Carelin. The woman's face remained cheerfully impassive, although her eyes were watching her sharply.

"Yes, that's right," she said. "Seemed like a good deal at the time, too; I gave him all my life's savings. Husband had just died and I needed a way to make a living, else I'd be in the streets."

Torio's voice supplicated the crowd, laced with sarcasm. "Ah yes. I can see how this investment has worked out well for you."

Another small wave of snickering. Torio waved the parchment in her hand high. "We have here, for your investment, Carelin, a notice of registration for the Serpentine River Company, run by an anonymous trader. You invested in this venture with Lord Dornan covering your expenses, did you not?"

"Yes," the woman said simply.

"And when the venture fell through, Lord Dornan offered to let you work off your rather gargantuan debt as a servant in his household to keep you from the prisons, is that correct?"

"Yes."

Torio turned to the gallery, her arms stretched wide. "And yet, here on this small piece of parchment, we have in Lord Dornan's own handwriting, the registrar of the very company that failed in its endeavor…a company he earnestly and in full confidence assured you would turn profitable."

She slammed the parchment down on the podium in front of the Magistrate, the hook-nosed man jumping slightly. "Friends...such a company never existed! Lord Dornan lured this woman into an agreement with him knowing full well her investment would fail. Lured her into servitude, while nary a penny ever left his hand!" The gallery was rumbling now, voices raised in heated conversations, and the Magistrate pounded on his podium, calling irritably for order once again.

Torio dropped her arms, her voice lowered. Her voice was slightly smug, and yet she couldn't keep her eyes from darting to Sand's face. "No more questions, your Honor."

She felt an itch at the side of her neck, and turned her head slightly...Nivarra was staring at her, her dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she leaned forward on the parapet, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

Sand leapt to his feet. "Your Honor. I challenge the veracity of those documents in the Blackmoon Traders' possession. I would like them examined for forgery!"

The Magistrate seemed to have been expecting that and he gestured to the side of the courts where two official looking mages had been waiting. "The Courts will now take a one hour recess while the evidence is examined. We will reconvene one hour after noon." He rapped his gavel down twice, the wooden smacking noises echoing through the Court room and then made a swift exit to his chambers.

Sand made his way back to Dornan. "My lord, I would advise you to remain here or in the side room. It is unwise to intermingle with the people of the gallery - they are here to see somebody hang and the rabble may take it upon themselves to exact justice themselves. I am going to speak to Ednia and see if I cannot persuade her to broker a deal with us. Mistress, stay with your father. Opposing counsel may be more likely to speak to me, lawyer to lawyer."

Sand marched over to the tall woman. "Counselor. A word in private?"

Torio had been half turned, opening her mouth to speak to Jearl, the bearded man standing from his seat, when Sand's voice suddenly floated through the air, and her insides did a writhing dance.

Something of what she was feeling must has flitted across her face, for Jearl gave her a warning look moments before she schooled her expression, and turned, her chin tilted at a haughty angle. "Of course, Counselor," she said briskly. She glanced back at the three figures seated behind the podium.

"We'll be here," said Jearl evenly.

She gestured to Sand to follow her, and turned, her robes shuffling against her feet as she made her way to one of the empty side chambers...._how many deals had she brokered in rooms just like this?_ Her heart was attempting rather determinedly to crawl up into her throat as she opened the door, the small, dimly lit room cool and silent compared to the bustle of the courtroom. She forwent the chairs and leaned against one of the small bookcases, her arms crossed over her chest as she gazed at Sand expectantly.

"Counselor." Sand studied the woman for a moment, forced to lift his head up to stare into her eyes. _Clear. Gray._ "You impressed me out there. You may just win this yet." The bottle was between his fingers but without a doubt the room was being scryed by somebody and he had to give her the potion without them seeing. He stepped closer to her until the sleeves of their robes were brushing against one another and he pressed the potion of _Eagle Splendor _into her hands, closing his fingers over hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

Not that such a formidable lawyer would need it but every little bit could help.

"I don't know where they found you, girl, but I'm glad to have someone who can match wits with me. I wasn't looking forward to a verbal slaughter today." He gave her a tired smile. "I don't suppose I could convince you to drop the charges in return for compensation?" He sniffed slightly.

_Books. Candlewax._

He took a quick step back, nearly tripping on his robes and he had to grab a chair to hold himself steady for a moment. It was like Torio's ghost was in the room with him suddenly - prying open his heart and mind, and forcing him to relive every single painful and joyful moment he had ever had with her. His eyes shot up again to meet Ednia's - and for the slightest second, he was looking into Torio's eyes again –

"I..." The room suddenly seemed much too small for the both of them, suffocating him with memories of a woman now in a far off Plane, the only woman who had ever understood him. "I must return to my client."

Torio's knees had begun to shake ever so slightly as Sand stepped close; she felt a bottle slip into her fingers, and briefly, just briefly...his eyes met hers and his nostrils flared, ever so slightly as he drew in a breath.

The blood seemed to rush from his face, and a memory flashed through her mind; Sand holding her against him on his bed at the keep, his voice light and thick with desire..._you smell of...books and candlewax, candlesmoke and human...._

He was already turning from her, his muscles tensed; she could see the small bunching at his throat as he clenched his jaw, and instinctively her hand reached out, fingers outstretched towards him, to brush his robes, touch him, for half a second...before her hand balled into a fist and fell at her side again, and Maxxil's words ran through her mind once again, warning her not to give herself away...

_By gods..._

She dropped her face, fingering the top of the bottle he had given her, peeling the wax back from around the cork. "Good luck, Sand," she managed quietly.

Sand nodded brusquely and exited the side room, making his way across the courtroom to the table with the pieces of parchment. His feet seemed to move him automatically; he hardly noticed the three Moonstar agents looking at him as he passed or the fact that both Nivarra and her father were not in the courtroom. He sat down heavily in the chair - his mind reeling, his heart thudding in his cheat, his body cold and numb.

Was he going to be haunted by Torio for the rest of his life? Could he take another four hundred years of torment?

Actually he was probably being generous with that life expectancy the way things were going and he grimly modified his thoughts - could he handle another year of anguish?

To take his mind off things, he began flipping through his notes again and only looked up when Nivarra and Dornan returned.

Nivarra returned first, casting a glance over her shoulder before dropping lightly into the seat next to Sand, leaning close and speaking in a hushed whisper. "He's trying to eke out a deal as we speak with one of the Magistrate's men." Her mouth was tightened in frustration. "I'm doing all I can to dissuade them on the side from helping my father; this may turn out good for us, especially if he gets...arrogant, as is his wont, in assuming that he'll have assistance no matter how the verdict goes. It may loosen his tongue, make him feel safe...and careless." She puffed a strand of hair out of her face in exasperation. "Or they will agree, and he will be untouchable. Rare, that it would go that way, but I..."

Her words cut off abruptly, as Dornan reappeared, making his way towards them, his face impassive, his eyes glittering angrily. She cocked an eyebrow at Sand, but said no more, merely touched his shoulder briefly...her fingers dug into his flesh through the robes, her eyes sharp as she glanced at him, before standing and returning to her seat in the gallery behind them.

Torio re-entered the courtroom just as the Magistrate did, the assistant calling out "All rise…" There was a shuffling and slight disgruntled murmuring as the 'spectators' stood to their feet and sat again once the Magistrate was comfortably seated on his bench.

"Will the Court report its findings on the documents provided by the Blackmoon Traders?"

The two mages took their position at the front of the court and the senior of the two said loudly, in a nasally official voice. "We have found all documents to be originals and will testify to their contents." Of course Sand knew this would be the final verdict on the exhibits; he had given them the originals.

The Magistrate nodded grimly. "Thank you for your assistance in the matter. Sand?"

Dornan was watching him hard and the elf's eyes roved through the galleries until...

_Birren._

"Your honor, I would like to call Birren of Luskan, a man under the employ of the Red Dragon Trading Company."

Birren didn't look surprised to be called to the stand. He made his way down the steps, his red clothing a bright stark contrast to the other watchers. He sat and faced Sand, his expression amused.

"Lord Birren. The Red Dragon Trading Company is _the _trading company in Luskan, is it not?"

The bald man nodded, "Yes. Everybody knows that."

"And you have regular dealings with Lord Dornan, do you not?"

"Yes - we've been doing business together for years."

Sand turned and caught Lord Dornan's eyes. The man seemed to be approving of his choice in witness, his posture looking haughty. Nivarra's own hazel eyes were boring in Birren. "Never had any problems?"

The trader laughed. "Never with Dornan. Just his daughter."

Sand quickly stepped in front of Birren. "Please - let us stick to the matter at hand, which is Lord Dornan's business practices. Now a reputable company like the Red Dragon would not want to do business with a shady business man, would they?"

Birren gave Sand a slow understanding smile and then turned his gaze to Dornan. A look of understanding seemed to pass between the two men. "No - never. Doing business with a criminal could mean the downfall of the Red Dragon. We screen all our partners first. We have never had a problem with Lord Dornan."

Sand turned and sat back down. "Thank you. No further questions."

The Magistrate turned to Ednia. "Your witness."

Torio stood. "I have no questions for this witness but would like to call another to the stand." There was a wave of muttering through the courtroom as Birren glanced at her interestedly before walking back out to take his seat again. Torio did her nonchalant best to sway out onto the floor as the Magistrate banged for order on his podium once more. She called the second witness, the stooped, aging Berkle to the stand, the man shuffling forward through the crowd.

His questioning was brief, as she validated everything that Carelin had said earlier. She held up the (now validated) scraps of parchment for each and every company that Dornan invented, releasing Berkle from the stand and calling up Torman. "And these are only three, my lords and ladies...Your Honor," she said expansively, her voice tinged with righteous outrage. "Lord Dornan has no less than forty seven indentured servants on his land, all indebted to him over these false trading practices. Forty seven! He is a wealthy man, indeed," she said, scoffing, "for he has neither had to pay nor purchase his slaves! It is of no consequence, and acts in his favor to form alliances with the most powerful merchant company in Luskan." Her eyes found Birren in the gallery, and she said caustically, "I assure you, Lord Birren, that Lord Dornan will never have a chance to ensnare _you_ in such a fiendish plot, not after justice is seen to today."

"That's enough." The Magistrate was frowning down at the papers in front of him, his eyes lifting momentarily to stare at Dornan thoughtfully the courtroom shuffled restlessly as Torman was dismissed from the stand, and the Magistrate seemed content to read the papers in front of him. After a moment, his voice echoed over the court room. "Do you have any more witnesses, Counselors?"

Sand stood and said clearly. "Yes, your Honor. I would like to call the accused to the stand." Another ripple went through the crowds and he watched the man stand and walk stiffly forward, unused to being surrounded by judging, harsh eyes. His face at taken on a reddish tinge, his knuckles white. Except there were no slaves or servants or wizards or even daughters upon which to take out his anger this time.

Sand kept his voice gentle and courteous. "My Lord Dornan. It certainly has been a trying day for you. All these false lies being spread about you. Will you set the record straight about what you did?"

Dornan's voice was strained, attempting to maintain his cool. "Of course. The accusations that these investments were anything but honest and fair handed are ridiculous. I, of course, entered into business with the many indentured servants in my estate. It is not _my_ fault that our business practices failed." He shot a half-imploring, half-amused look to the sea of faces staring at him intently. "It takes years to learn how to manage business in this godsforsaken city, surely everyone knows that. I never got the hang of things until my friend, Lord Birren, entered into dealings with me." Dornan's voice was smooth and confident. "Can I be blamed for having the funds to back up investments that my partners didn't? Am I to be targeted simply due to my status?"

His eyes flicked to the tree 'merchants' sitting behind where Torio was standing, his tone patronizing. "Surely this entire affair is nothing more than a personal attack...come now, how much do we know about these Blackmoon Traders, your Honor?"

Torio's voice split through the air like the crack of a whip. "Objection!"

The Magistrate gave her a wry look, before turning to Lord Dornan. "Sustained. My Lord, you are the one on trial here, not them."

Dornan's face flushed for a moment, his mouth pressing together in an angry line. "They were honest dealings," he nearly hissed. "I will not be treated this way!"

Sand hurried forward, seemingly to soothe his client. "Of course not, my Lord. Please, return to your seat. I am certain the courts and the good people of Luskan have heard enough and are convinced of your innocence." He waited until Dornan was seated again before addressing the people gathered. "You have heard it yourself, friends. Everyone here ...merely victims of unfortunate circumstances, and bad turns of economies. It happens to all of us - runs of bad luck. Instead of sending his partners to jails or worse, he offered them a haven in which to work off their debt. That is fair and kind and... I am certain - absolutely certain - the courts will make the right decision today and find this man innocent. Nothing further to add, your Honor."

"Fair and kind!" Torio's laugh echoed around the murmuring chamber as Sand moved back to Dornan's side. "Yes, I suppose such treatment would be fair and kind under circumstances when such an arrangement was legal!" She drew herself up as she spoke, and old habit from when her frame was much shorter than it was now...and yet she supposed the effect was imposing, regardless.

"Men and women of Luskan, your Honor...this man has grievously wronged many citizens of this great city, some of them serving for nearly two decades under falsified documents. Two decades, think of it! And all of it illegal...these people think they are servants, but in reality they are free as either you or me." A brief, thought flickered through her mind…_Ha!_ She turned to the Magistrate, pressing her fist against her chest. "The evidence is before you, your Honor; I implore that you do not ignore it, nor ignore the people thrust into wrongful slavery because of the deceitful machinations of _that_ man." She pointed at Dornan as she spoke, holding the pose dramatically for a moment before dropping her arm, inhaling deeply. "I have nothing else to add, your Honor.

She moved back to the three merchants and practically sank into the chair next to them; Jearl's face was impassive, and Fen only flashed a brief smile at her, but Wescett was chuckling quietly. "Well done," he whispered, before the Magistrate stood.

"I need time to deliberate on the verdict; recess for one hour." The gavel slammed into the podium, and everyone scrambled to their feet once more as Wyn stood and left.

Nivarra was attempting to 'soothe' her father's rising aggravation. "It will go well for you, father, you'll see," she said quietly. Her eyes caught Sand's, and she smiled.

They all retreated to the side room. Sand had no idea if Ednia had taken the potion or not but he had been impressed by her performance. And really - it had been a performance from the both of them. He began pacing around the small room, circling Nivarra and her father until Dornan irritably shouted for him to sit down and stop making him dizzy.

Sand sat beside Nivarra and the three of them waited in tense, terse silence until there was a rap on the door. "A verdict has been determined. Please re-enter the courtroom."

Sand stood up a little too quickly, his nerves frayed and his stomach churning. Lord Dornan exited first, ever proud and confident and Sand followed Nivarra, letting the door fall shut behind him with a slam of finality. Opposite to them, the Moonstar agents and Ednia were returning as well. He wondered if they felt as anxious as he did.

The court room was now utterly silent as the people stood before the Magistrate.

Magistrate Wyn's eyes stared down at them all for a moment, his narrow face seemingly haggard. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and yet easily heard in the deathlike silence around the courtroom. "In my long years of presiding, I have seen many atrocious charges brought before me...But I have never seen a man sentence a multitude of his peers to personal slavery, and go through such lengths to do it."

His eyes were hard as he stared down at Dornan. "The evidence speaks rather loudly against you, my Lord...but after what I've seen, and heard today, it leaves me with only one decision." The gavel rose and fell, slamming into the podium. "I sentence you to a life of imprisonment and servitude, chained to the oars of the Hosttower's galley ships; fitting, I think, in light of your actions." He jerked his chin, and a squad of guards began moving up to the front of the courtroom as an anguished, enraged wail tore from Dornan's throat, and the crowd of people erupted in shouting around them.

Everything that happened next was nearly a blur; Dornan turned, facing Sand, his face near purple with rage, and slammed his fist directly into the elf's face. An outraged cry tore through the air, and only Jearl's hand snapping out and clamping down on Torio's wrist kept her from striding forward, her eyes blazing. Nivarra climbed over the parapet and dodged the guards as they threw themselves on Dornan, pulling him back and restraining him; she moved to Sand's side and watched, coldly, as the guards drew the struggling, cursing man out of the courtroom, his eyes blazing, trained on both her and Sand.

* * *

One minute he was standing; the next minute he was on the ground and his face _hurt_. Nivarra was crouched over him, and he found her hand, squeezing it before letting his head fall back on the scuffed wooden floors.

_He had done it._

The adrenaline drained completely from his body and he realized he would be quite happy to fall asleep here in the middle of the courtroom. His back ached from how stiffly he had been holding it. He sat up and realized his left eye was already swollen shut.

_But he had done it._

He stood shakily and made his way over to the Moonstar agents and Ednia, sticking out his hand. "Congratulations on your victory." He tried to keep his voice cold, curt. "You have sent a man to his early death I am sure."

Nivarra followed Sand, slipping her arm through his as she watched him shake hands with the tall, flame-haired woman and the three other merchants she had met with the day before. "I suppose I have you to thank for the sudden loss of over half of my servants when I return to my estate," she said rudely, but her eyes were gleaming as she looked at them all. _What does a Nightbringer need of servants?_ "A fine case you fought," she said quietly, almost gleefully. "We shall have to do business in the future, most assuredly. As of now, I have a few...logistical problems at home to take care of. And servants to let loose from the house like wandering cattle." The Counselor for the merchants was staring at her narrowly, her gray eyes narrowed and her mouth hard. Nivarra merely gave her an arched brow before glancing at Sand. "If you'll excuse us, my wizard needs healing." She tugged on Sand's arm and began leading him from the courtroom.

Wescett's hand was at her elbow. "Come, Ednia, we should...return." Torio watched Nivarra leave the room, her arm clutching possessively at Sand as they walked, and for a moment all she seemed to hear was a buzzing, ringing in her ears, clamoring furiously...

Fen spoke quietly, "Come, Ednia. "

She inhaled deeply, and followed the merchants as they trailed from the courtroom, trying to push the image from her mind.


	38. Chapter 38

**Volume 3, Chapter 38: Power, You Have**

The carriage ride went by in a blur; the three Moonstar agents sitting with her were warmly congratulative, as if she had just won a barrel race rather than a riskily plotted trial. "A life as a galley slave," said Wescett appreciatively. "The gods know a man like him deserves it, but I still feel a bit of sympathy."

"That makes one of us," said Fen dryly. "You were outstanding, T...er, Ednia," she said quietly, lowering her voice when she caught a sharp look from Jearl. "I dare say some of the stories we've heard about you are true."

Torio merely nodded, her voice escaping her as the carriage pulled away, her insides settling in her body like cold lead.

Jearl must have noticed something in her expression, for he said, "No more talk like this until we return to the wheelwright's," and the ride passed by in blessed silence, the carriage rattling to a halt outside of Maxxil's shop.

Torio followed the others inside the side door, glancing up at the high afternoon sun. _Tonight_, she thought. She wouldn't wait any longer...just long enough for the servants to be freed, not long enough for Nivarra to become comfortable and hire more guards, or more servants, or pack up and leave Luskan. _Tonight._

Maxxil ushered them all into the building and to the back, down the stairs. He had been pacing around his workshop all day like an anxious hen; but once he saw the three agents and Torio emerge he knew they had won. Wescett had practically skipped from the carriage. Fen looked like she wouldn't be able to stop smiling for days. Even the normally stoic Jearl had a hint of light in his eyes. That's all he needed to know. They had won. "I'll leave you all to your discussions. I'll be upstairs if you need anything. Congratulations!" The dwarf tried to keep his knowledge of their plans to a minimum; it was safer for all involved.

Wescett poured them all celebratory wine. "To Dornan. He got what he deserved."

Jearl took the wine but did not drink from it right away. "Maxxil and Ivery have told us you need to rescue the elf. How do you intend to do that? March in through the gates, kill the girl, take the elf?"

Torio drank a long swallow of wine, her eyes gleaming ironically. "Maxxil halfway suggested that, already; he did mention that the estate would be somewhat chaotic, what with half the servants being released, and Nivarra taking control. All I know is that if we wait too long, she may leave the city...or amass the type of personal guard that would make things very, very difficult for me." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The chaos can work to my..._our_..." she encompassed the Moonstars in her glance, and Wescett could not suppress a grin back at her, "…advantage." She shrugged her shoulders lightly, her mouth quirking in a smile. "Disguises might even work; guard uniforms, servants garb; I'm sure with the confusion over household numbers over the next few days, our Lady Nivarra wouldn't notice a few extra bodies amongst her serving crew; and if she does, why should she complain? She's losing half her household as it is, she'd probably just count it as a boon."

Fen shrugged. "So we get Ivery back here, she changes your appearance and I can sneak you onto the estate grounds. Nivarra has many personal female maidservants; you could probably even kill her in her sleep." The woman actually laughed. "This will be the easiest assassination in Luskan history I think."

Jearl walked towards the curtain. "All right, since you want to do this immediately, I'll go fetch the mage. You didn't waste time with our request, we won't waste time with yours." A flash of light and the agent disappeared. Wescett turned and grinned at Torio, pouring her more wine. Soon there was another flash of light and Jearl returned with the large mage.

"Ah, Torio. Time to change your skin again, is it?" she sat beside her and offered hand. "Congratulations, by the way." She dropped another strand of coccoon silk on her hand and went through the now familiar _Polymorph_ and _Permanency_ spells. The four Moonstar agents clustered around Torio, examining her the way one would examine livestock before a purchase.

A thin, waif like girl with drab, shoulder length brown hair and gray eyes stood before them. She was barely into her 20s, her face with a bright, freshly scrubbed look. Ivery put her hands on her hips, slightly puzzled that the eyes never changed but shrugged it off. "Well?"

Torio blinked dizzily for a moment, feeling slightly queasy...was it dangerous to polymorph too often? She shook her head to clear it and glanced down at herself. Her skin had gone from delicate, soft, slightly lined parchment to firm, smooth tautness, and she felt the fringes of hair brushing her shoulders, once scarlet, now a deep, rather dull mouse-brown. "As long as I don't look like myself, it'll do." Her robes were hanging off of her thin frame, and she plucked at her clothing, arching a brow at the four figures around her.

Wescett chuckled. "You look like you need a decent meal, that's for sure."

Fen laughed. "I'll get something you can wear, hang on." As she slipped towards one of the far chests, Jearl said evenly, "You'll need to consider how to kill Nivarra, before you enter her manor; it will not do to charge in there and think that you can simply slide a blade between her ribs and slide back out again with your...partner." Torio's eyes snapped to him sharply at the inflection he put on the word, but his face remained impassive. "The woman has many guards on the estate, still, and you will be, after all, a lowly servant."

"What about poison?" asked Fen as she returned, handing a folded pile of linen clothing towards Torio.

"What kind of poison?" countered Wescett. "You've been in that house more often than us, Fen, do you honestly think it's easy to get close to that woman?"

Fen shrugged, her features unconcerned. "She does have to sleep eventually, you know...and like I said, she has personal female servants that she must have around her at some point during the day."

Torio's voice was wry. "Just get me inside...if you've got anything deadly besides just cold steel, I'll take it. I think I should be able to impersonate one of her personal servants." _After all, it's not terribly difficult to dress a lady's hair and bathe her feet...or poison her wine..._

Fen returned to Torio's side with a ratty beige dress. "Here, dress in this and wear your traveling cloak. Getting inside the estate requires a bit of traveling through sewers. I hope you don't mind, Ambassador. I know it's a far cry from your usual entrances."

Jearl handed her a very small vial with a green paste. "Your basic snake venom poison from a Chultan asp. Nothing too fancy - drop it in her food or coat it on your blade. Any antidote potion will cure it so make sure she's dead. But it may help."

Torio took the small jar, eyeing it appreciatively. "Trust me," she said quietly, "I'll be as certain as I possibly can."

She changed behind the partition once again, hearing Wescett and Fen argue over weapons, the clatter of metal against wood, steel against iron. Jearl was changing in the storeroom, determined to accompany her up to the point where she was able to enter Nivarra's estate grounds.

In the end she was given a long, curved dagger that she strapped to her thigh underneath the long, plan skirt, and a pair of smaller dirks that she slid into sheathes against her wrist, pulling her sleeves down and tucking the ends underneath the straps to cover them up. Their blades had been liberally coated with poison, and she slipped the small jar into a pocket of her skirt, saving the rest.

The cloak was tied around her shoulders just as Maxxil appeared at the top of the stairs, the wall panel sliding back and revealing a reddish, orangey glow spilling in from the windows...the sun was setting. "Time to move, lass," he said, stumping down the first few steps in order to bend down and look at them below the ceiling line.

Fen and Wescett both clasped her shoulders. "Thank you," said Fen. All of them had gotten her to this point, and she dreaded to think what she might have had to do had she ended up trying to take on Luskan alone. "You've done a good thing, today; Dornan was a foul man, and trust me when I say that he deserves everything he's getting and more. We've been watching him for years, trying to take him down, and...I'm not sure we could have done it, in the end, without your help."

Wescett grinned. "As last minute as that help was." He ruffled the mop of brown hair falling from her head, which, along with her youthful appearance, made her feel painfully undignified. "Good luck, Ambassador."

Jearl led her out of Maxxil's shop, the dwarf's eyes twinkling as he opened the side door and let them out into the street. "Ye take care of yourself," he said quietly. "Any time you need help, you know where to find me...just leave that master of yours at home."

Torio cracked a smile. "I can almost guarantee you that."

Dusk was falling rapidly as Jearl led her down side streets, avoiding the main roads that ran through Luskan like arteries, foot and carriage traffic still thick even at this time of day. The final side alley revealed a moldy, metal grating covering a square, wide hole, and Jearl reached down, pulling it up and gesturing for her to climb down the rusted ladder.

Torio took a deep breath, instantly regretted it, and climbed down.

Fen whispered quietly to Torio. "Keep your head down and move quickly. There are many unsavory things which lurk here; criminals on the run, undead, aberrations from misfired spells. If they see you down here they assume you are like them but if you start looking around, looking lost - they will know you're an outsider."

Jearl was following them from behind and they heard the grate fall shut with a loud clang. He gave Torio's shoulder a firm squeeze and then they were off. The path to Nivarra's estate was winding and circular; the stench nearly unbearable. Large rats hardly moved out of the way as they walked and even appeared to stare at them with beady eyes, annoyed. Several times they had to duck into side tunnels and press themselves into the slimey walls as groups of filthy, raucous men made they way past; once, a shambling greenish beast ambled nearby, moaning frightfully.

Fen moved unerringly, her footsteps sure in the sliding muck. Several times Jearl behind Torio slipped slightly, but Fen always knew where to place her foot. It took nearly thirty minutes to finally reach a dead end chamber with a ladder moving up. The girl climbed up the ladder quickly, and gestured for Torio to follow.

Jearl smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Thank you Torio. The Moonstars now look to you as an ally. Best of luck."

The ladder led up to a narrower, low ceiling tunnel which required both women to crawl through. Luckily the stone here was dry and this portion of the sewers appeared unused for many years. At the end was a small portcullis, hidden behind a shabby wall hanging and as Fen swung it open, it moved without a squeak.

Torio slipped into a small alcove after Fen, surrounded by utter pitch black for a moment before her eyes began to adjust; it looked like they were in a large, expansive sleeping hall, the torchlights guttering low and casting long, ominous shadows across the nearly deserted room. Only a few servants lingered, most of them bustling about actively, on their way in or on their way back out. Her and Fen were currently cloaked in complete darkness.

"Be careful who you speak to," the half-elf whispered to her. "Most of the servants left now are the paid or pampered, and may not be above informing Nivarra or the guards of your presence if you confide in any of them. Nivarra's quarters are up the short flight of stairs in the West Wing...the kitchen is straight down the hall from here, and below are the cellars and dungeons." Fen's hand touched her lightly on the shoulder. "When you are....finished, return through the sewers this way. I'll be waiting for you for as long as I can, to lead you back." She couldn't see the half-elf's smile in the darkness, but she could sense it in her voice. "Good luck...hopefully I will see you again."

And with that, she disappeared back into the wall hanging, shutting it behind her with a *click* of finality.

Torio took a deep breath and slipped out into the servants' quarters, keeping to the shadows.

Alysin bustled through the sleeping quarters, checking on sleeping servants to make sure that those that remained were not slaves but paid workers when suddenly she noticed a slight, young girl, inching along the walls. The girl was unfamiliar to her and Alysin had made a point to at least recognize the faces of all those who worked for Dornan. She approached her. "Hello there. I'm Alysin the healer at this household." She dropped her voice. "I don't think we've met. Are you... a surprise from our friends?"

Torio nearly jumped when the old woman's voice touched her ears; she could feel her spine stiffen uneasily as the white haired, white robed woman spoke. _Hells, Torio...not even five minutes and you've already been found out._ Fen's warning words were ringing through her ears, and she said, cautiously, "I'm...here to replace Lady Nivarra's maidservant until she can find a more permanent solution." The woman's eyes flashed kindly at her, and Torio glanced over her shoulder; a incredibly well starched man was speaking briskly to a pair of well starched women, piling linens into their arms, and she whispered, "Don't let anyone know that you've not seen me before, please..." Without even thinking, she let out, "I'm here for Sand."

She felt a flush stain her cheeks...but she realized it probably sounded better than _I'm here to kill Nivarra._

Alysin nodded and then took her by the arms, escorting her to her room. "Come now dear," she said loudly. "Let's see if we can't get a look at that nasty burn." When they were safely back in the room, the cleric sat on the bed. "Oh I'm so happy they've sent someone for Sand. Poor thing's had a rough time with both Nivarra and her father. I'm so glad he's not being left behind."

She eyed the girl before her critically. She looked as though the gentlest puff of wind could blow her over but who was she to question their new powerful friends? They had managed to free all the slaves which was nothing short of a miracle. "Want me to bring you up to see him? He's probably with his mistress right now. She always keeps him close by."

Torio felt her stomach turn queasily at Alysin's words. _Always keeps him close by._ "Yes," she said woodenly. "Yes, it would seem less suspicious if I were introduced, instead of wandering up there by myself." Her skin felt cold, clammy...she was nervous, excited...and absolutely terrified, now that her chance to retrieve Sand was finally upon her.

_What if he refused to come back?_

"Just lead the way," she said, her voice unusually steely for a young girl. "My name is...Adyla."

* * *

When they exited the courtroom, they were instantly surrounded by laughing, jeering crowds.

_"The old man got what he deserved eh!"_

_"Let's see how he likes the hard life!"_

_"Good job, elf - I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy!"_

_"Little girl, think you can manage without daddy?"_

Sand kept his head down and followed Nivarra to the waiting carriage. It would do no good to threaten them all with a spell - with one eye so swollen he'd probably miss the crowds and bring down the courthouse instead. At least the driver had the decency not to abandon them here - or perhaps he had been instructed by the Moonstars not to abandon _him_ here. With a pang, Sand realized that once Matthew and the rest left, he would be utterly alone in the mansion with Nivarra.

They entered the carriage and sped off, Sand resting his head against the wooden side. He hoped Alysin would still be there. Dornan's fist had connected quite solidly with his face and he needed all his faculties and focus if he was going to work on the Nightbringer ritual tonight.

Nivarra's face was practically glowing as they carriage took off, the words of the hecklers outside the courtroom hardly seeming to phase her. "It will take a few days for his sentence to be enacted," she said as she glanced out the carriage window, her voice eager. "But once he's assigned a ship, the title and deeds to the estate will be written in my name."

Her eyes darted to Sand's face, and a slow, lazy smile curled her lips as she slid across the carriage to sit beside him. "Poor little slave," she said, purring, curling a strand of Sand's silky hair around her finger. "You look terrible; ensure that you go see Alysin when we make it back to the manor. While you're at it, I will have a list of names sent down from my father's study, of all the servants that will need to be 'escorted' off the grounds. I can trust you to oversee it?" Her face clouded for a moment, her brows furrowing together in a frown. "We'll need more servants, of course...but tonight, when we perform the ritual..." She sighed almost longingly. "The Hosttower will practically be eating out of my hand, come morning; I should be able to handpick acolytes to serve my household...or maybe I will sell off the entire property, and seize chambers in the Hosttower itself."

The carriage ground to a halt, and the driver opened the door, revealing the Manor house rising tall before them. She stepped down and glanced behind to where Sand stood. "Heal yourself, and get those servants off my lands. And be quick about it! We have much to prepare for tonight." She was nearly skipping as she bounded up the steps, her skirts flying around her pale legs and swishing as she disappeared through the front door.

Sand stepped down from the carriage and turned to the driver. "We lost the case - spread the word, those who wish to leave the property may do so. They're all free. Those who wish to stay can as well and work for regular servant wages." Sand trotted to the front door and down through the familiar hallways towards the servants' quarters, the hallways suddenly bigger, brighter and less oppressive now that Dornan was gone. "You're all freed! We lost!"

Sand couldn't keep the gleeful note out of his voice as he ran down the corridors, slaves and servants popping their heads out of doorways, joyful squeals and sobs of relief following him where ever he went. He heard clatters of trays being dropped, hurried footsteps; Master Yune ran up to him, blocking his way. "Is it true? You lost?"

Sand took a quick step back, wary of the man who had caused him so much misery. "Yes..." and he realized he was nearly flinching as he said it.

The large man's shoulders suddenly sag. "Oh thank the gods - I can return home..." He turned and disappeared around the corner and Sand blinked, shocked. It had never occurred to him that Yune had been a slave too. His steps carried to Alysin's chambers and he called out, "I lost! I lost!"

Alysin's face was beaming. "So I heard; you have a rather lovely voice, wizard, and it carries far when you put your mind to it." She arched a brow at the swelling over Sand's face. "A result of your successful defeat?" She tsked, and pulled Sand into the room, placing a hand over the swiftly bruising flesh and shutting her eyes. As she was praying, loud whoops and shouts, laughter, the sound of running feet out in the hallway, the clanking of armored guards trying to herd people through the manor in an organized fashion, all of it nearly drowning out the old woman's calm, soothing voice

The familiar flash of light filled the room, and almost as soon as Alysin's hands fell away from Sand's healed face, the door to her room burst open, and a wave of bodies spilled inside of it. Matthew's arms went around Sand, hugging him unabashedly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. "You did it!" he shouted, his voice muffled as even more servants threw their arms around the wizard, until Sand was nearly buried in the press of sobbing, laughing, celebrating bodies.

"We can never thank you enough," said Matthew roughly, after a moment. "There is nothing we could ever do to repay you; but thank you. Thank you." Hands patted Sand's head, his back, his shoulders; a few of the more enterprising women kissed his face before they all turned to spill from the front door, Matthew's faint thoughts trickling through Sand's mind. _We'll never forget you._

"No...really...no thanks... oh, ah you're embarrassing..." as hands and lips found every inch of him, squeezing, patting, kissing, hugging. Somebody (he suspected - rather hoped - it was the pretty blond half-elf and not the toothless old woman) even gave his bottom a pinch and he flushed insensibly at the open show of gratitude. He caught Matthew's eye. _I couldn't have done this without you - count yourself among the heroes..._

And almost in the same instant, a new voice seemed to whisper in Sand's ear_..."Come to the study, Sand of Neverwinter...without your Mistress. We have much to talk about."_

The whispered voice was gone as quickly as it had been magically summoned, and yet it was unmistakably Vergo's...it left behind a faint chill in the air, and Alysin visibly shivered, before she smiled sweetly at Sand.

"I'll know soon enough if Lady Nivarra will still require my services; if I, too, must leave, then I wish you luck, wizard. And I will most assuredly see you again, if you remain in Luskan."

Sand sighed happily, still sitting on the floor and watching the former slaves run down the hall towards their freedom. _Sure beats Nevalle's method of showing gratitude which consists of yet another life endangering task…__ He wondered, briefly, if Nevalle had even noticed he was missing._

Sand turned to Alysin and clasped her hands in his. "You are too good for Luskan. Take care, dear girl, no matter what happens."

Sand left the cleric's room, his face betraying none of the fear that was steadily building in him as he approached the study. The Brotherhood - here. Wanting to meet him without Nivarra. It was if several _Alarm_ spells were chiming inside of him at the same time, every instinct telling him to turn and run. But still he walked towards the study, the hallways now eerily deserted. Even the paid servants seem to have taken leave for the day.

Sand had no idea where Nivarra was as he slipped inside the study and greeted the chubby halfling mage. "Master Vergo. Well met. To what do I owe this .... pleasure?"

Vergo was sitting comfortably on one of the armchairs as if he himself lived there. He seemed completely unperturbed that he _was_ in someone else's house. "I wanted a chance to speak with you, Sand, without your...keeper overhearing, for a moment. Please, sit." He gestured to the chair opposite him, his golden eyes glowing eerily in the firelight that crackled from the study's fireplace.

"Don't worry overmuch about your mistress...she is currently...occupied, and will not bother us during this little conversation." The halfling leaned forward. "Tell me something, wizard...what would you give to be removed from under Nivarra's control?" His supple, ruddy cheeks dimpled as he smiled thinly. "And no posturing about how you wouldn't dream of leaving her service...I am no fool."

Sand sat, his velvet robes silent under his movements and considered Vergo's word very carefully. "To be removed from Nivarra's control - as in, given my freedom? There is much I would do for my freedom." He shifted his legs under his robes. "But I suspect the Brotherhood of the Arcane is not offering me my freedom. So perhaps I should ask, what do you want from me?"

Vergo chuckled. "Of course, we want you, Sand. Nivarra's wealth is inordinately tempting, but it is not ultimately what we're after; power is, and power, you have." One golden eyebrow arched over one golden eye. "Albeit focused in a rather unprofitable direction, at the moment. We bestowed Nivarra's _geas_ over you ourselves, and we can…move it, so to speak."

Vergo's eyes seemed to dance as he lowered his voice. "There is, of course, something we could offer you in return. It has come to our notice that a certain personage has...returned to the Prime Material plane. We have begun picking up traces of her presence south of here, and it will not be long until we find out where she is." Vergo leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Sand's face. "I'm sure you _know_ who I'm speaking of, Sand of Neverwinter? We are, of course, going to bring her to justice. I fear she will not receive as warm a reception in Luskan as you have; many influential people would give much to see her hang, and I'm afraid once they catch her even my persuasions will have little effect."

Vergo paused, sitting back in his chair. "However," he said quietly, "I am, currently, responsible for the mages tracking her movements. I could simply...abstain from such actions, if I were to have the assurances that you, powerful wizard that you are, would cooperate with the Hosttower. Your mistress is...unstable, at best, and it will not be long until we move against her." The halfling's mouth twitched in a smile. "Lord Birren has brought some rather disturbing things to light in our eyes, thanks to your own spying we hear, and we feel Nivarra will not be seated on her proverbial throne for very long."

His eyebrows went up, expectantly. "So tell me, wizard...what say you?"

The fledgling fear that had been inside him, burst into a fully grown terror when Vergo mentioned Torio.

_She was back? How could she be back? Why would she come back?_

Every single curse he knew flashed through his mind. _Oh you stupid, idiot girl... _

Sand knew Vergo would not be bluffing with information such as this. He was certain Vergo knew how he was feeling; the halfling was looking at him with a cold, knowing stare. A stare that controlled Torio's fate and indirectly his. His overactive imagination pictured Torio walking across the wooden planks of the gallows dress in a beautiful dress, the rope going around her slim jeweled neck, the trapdoor opening beneath her heeled feet, the sharp snap as the rope pulled taut...

He was gripping the armrest of the chair so hard his fingernails were leaving marks. He had saved Torio once and become chained to Luskan; he would save her again and become Luskan. "Very well. Call off your mages. Change the geas." The geas in his chest, which had been quiet for so long as he obeyed Nivarra unquestioningly suddenly exploded in a white, hot burst of pain and Sand grabbed his chest, his breathing strangled. His vision went grey and then black; he could feel his legs flailing and kicking as the magical bindings twisted inside of him. There was no way to ease the magical pain and he choked out to Vergo, "Hurry before the godsforsaken spell kills me..."

Vergo was incanting before Sand finished speaking; his words were succinct, expert, his gestures precise and almost liquid in their movements, and soon the spell gave a straining _snap!_ and suddenly...changed.

"Sand," he ordered. "Stand up."

He smiled as the elf complied.

His voice, when it came again, was quiet. "It will be some time...two days at most, until we are able to act...do not, under any circumstances, try to run from Luskan or it will go very badly for you." His eyes flashed momentarily. "And for Torio Claven, as well."

A voice could be heard calling through the manor. "Slave!"

Vergo chuckled. "I believe, wizard, that that is for you." He slipped from the chair and gave Sand a long look, before folding his small, chubby hands into the sleeves of his robes and disappearing from sight.


	39. Chapter 39

**Volume 3, Chapter 39: The Tables Would be Turned**

Sand took a moment to compose himself, rubbing his face. It seemed as though half of Luskan owned him by this point; but if it had bought Torio her life, perhaps then it was worth it. Technically, he could now count himself among the ranks of the Brotherhood – a small consolation. He left the small study at a half-jog, moving past silent guards and a few servants, and entered Nivarra's room. "Yes, mistress? You called?" He moved quietly to her side, his blue eyes expectant.

Nivarra was rustling through scraps of parchment in the small alcove behind her vanity, her voice excited. "Come, we haven't much time...the sun is already going down." She stepped from the alcove, placing a stack of papers onto the vanity, her eyes gleaming almost wildly, lips parted slightly in excitement. "There's not enough room here; we'll have to perform the ritual down in the cellars. Fitting, regardless...the Lady of Shadows thrives underground." She moved to Sand examining his face perfunctorily. "Are the servants gone?"

Sand needed desperately to catch his breath - trial, slaves, Brotherhood, Nightbringer. Victory, satisfaction, fear, betrayal. If it wasn't for his incredible mind, he was certain he would have erred somewhere along the way by now. "Yes, all the slaves are gone. Most of the paid servants have gone home for the day - only a handful remain, mistress."

He began helping her organize the papers. "We need to wait until midnight to perform the ceremony. It will take me about an hour to prepare the necessarily runes on the floor of the room you select. We will also need a dagger that has never before seen blood." He moved back into his small chambers, rummaging through the jars until he found the crushed obsidian stones. What else? Powdered moonbeam crystals. He gathered up all the components they had stolen or purchased and then rejoined her in the alcove, dropping the pouches on the desk. "We have all the materials we need, mistress. Now, to wait."

Nivarra stepped around him back into the bedroom, staring around her for a moment. Her pulse was racing steadily, quickly, beneath her skin; there was a nagging, uncertain doubt at the back of her mind, that whispered, _but what if it doesn't go the way you plan?_

She glanced back at Sand, standing in the alcove. _He lost the trial for you...he will not fail in this ritual, either._ Her eyes narrowed slyly as she reached out, sinking her fingers into the front of his robes and pulling him against her. "You did well, my pet," she said silkily. "My father never suspected a thing. Well - not until the end, I suppose." She stroked her fingers up his chest, her eyes flashing dangerous and cold in the candlelight of the rapidly dimming room, the last bright orange glow of the sunset disappearing outside the window. "It's upon us, my pet; soon, the spirit of the Dark Lady herself will be present in this house...and it's all because of you." She pressed her mouth against his, pushing his lips open, exploratory, her eyes falling shut for a moment.

Sand realized he could now refuse her advances; the geas no longer made him agree to anything she wanted - not his will, his mind, his body.

But if he resisted, she would suspect something. And then his bargain with the Hosttower would be off.

Kissing her now, in a way, was worse. He no longer had the geas on which to blame all his actions. He wrapped his arms around her, standing slightly on tiptoe to reach her mouth more easily. "Mistress, are you making up for the punch your father threw at me?"

* * *

"Greetings, then, Adyla. Follow me." The cleric tottered up from the servants' quarters through the halls. It was too quiet now and her footsteps seemed to echo loudly. It made her a little nervous, this big mansion being so emptied and belonging to that young girl Nivarra. They stood before Nivarra's door and the cleric knocked twice before opening it slightly. "Mistress Nivarra, your new serving girl is here."

Nivarra made a disgusted noise low in her throat before pulling back slightly from Sand, half turning to the door. "Well, bring her in already, then."

Alysin entered, Torio following closely on her heels. Nivarra's eyes flicked over her briefly, dismissing her as she took in the slight form, the lackluster brown hair...the girl looked inordinately young and wilting, an image not helped by the slender, slight up-turning of her nose that gave her features a somewhat childish cast.

"This is Adyla," said Alysin calmly.

Torio's eyes fixated on the scene before her, an icy, burning rage trickling through her veins, shot with a deep, hollowing pain. Nivarra's hands clutched at Sand possessively, her face flushed and lips slightly parted as she gave Torio the once-over, her gaze patronizing and condescending. She could feel her fingernails digging into her palms; Sand's hands were resting lightly at the back of Nivarra's neck, a few limp strands of dark hair resting between his fingers, and she could feel herself trembling slightly with fury.

_You're a fool, Torio Claven, rushing back here like a whipped, moon-eyed girl with a head full of poetry and sawdust...._

She smothered the cold, triumphant voice at the back of her mind, and stared hard into Nivarra's eyes for a moment... and then she dropped her gaze and fell into a slight, bobbing curtsey, muttering "Mistress."

Nivarra said, sharply, "I suppose you'll do." She extracted herself from Sand with businesslike aplomb and smoothed her dress down. "You can start by helping me here." Her fingers fluttered at Sand, disregarding. "Go find a suitably empty cellar downstairs and prepare what you must, then return to me as soon as your finished. And slave..." her eyes were glowing as she glanced at him. "Do take your time; I don't want any mistakes, this evening." She gestured to Torio, and pressed the panel on the wall, returning her vanity to its original spot and closing off the alcove. "Come, come, girl, I've no patience for tarrying around." She sat down, and Torio, after a sharp glance at Alysin, moved to help Nivarra prepare for the night, her eyes flicking to Sand's face only briefly.

Sand gathered up the supplies and made his way down to the cellars. He moved from room to room until he found one that only had some empty barrels and burlap sacks. These he shoved into the hallway so that the entire room was clear. He leaned against the door frame, staring at the charcoal grey dirty floor in front of him.

He didn't have to perform the ritual now that the geas was removed; perhaps he could pretend to do it and fail? All it would take would be a few mispronounced words, a few incorrect components.

_And perhaps instead of a Nightbringer, you accidentally turn her into a medusa..._

No, Sand had never been one to experiment with living creatures, even while at the Hosttower. But now that she wasn't forcing him to, and the Brotherhood hadn't given him specific instructions either; perhaps he could just trap her somehow and keep her bound until the Hosttower came for him. And her, likely.

But could he really do that to her? Betray her like that? Sand had to admit it was very apropos in a city like Luskan; the Brotherhood would probably pat him on the back for such a move. But now, he had a certain amount of careful affection for her. She wasn't treating him nearly as badly as she was before, now that he was bending over backwards to please her. Sand had seen how Dornan had treated her; he would be amazed if any young girl didn't grow up into that cold, harsh mistress he knew so well by now.

He could spirit her away – like he had done with Torio. She must have some distant relative, an aunt or grandparent in another city where he could teleport her. It would be a chance for her to have a new life, a new identity, one that did not rely upon her father's plots and the Hosttower's machinations. The girl would surely curse his name but what would she be able to do? With him as a Hosttower mage, she wouldn't dare risk re-entering Luskan again – and perhaps over time, she would come to thank him. Sand realized with a bemused chuckled that the shackles of servitude apparently had fit him well; he was barely remembering what being a free elf felt like. There was nothing she could do to him anymore.

He dropped the sack with all the materials on the ground and turned around, taking a tentative step towards freedom…

"Sand of Neverwinter, and once Sand of Luskan, and of Luskan again," the infernal Mephasm addressed him suddenly from the far shadows, "So often a tool in the instruments of much lesser minds. A wizard of great power, so often powerless - though such is the natural justice of this plane."

The devil floated forward and the shadows around him melted away. His face was cold and expressionless, but his words were genuine, "I offer your freedom from the fools that would use you, and the power to take revenge upon them. Or anyone else you so chose."

Sand's steps faltered as he heard the familiar voice, that had so often drifted in his direction from the summoning circle in the Keep. For a moment, it was like he was back in Neverwinter again, back safe...

He turned slowly. "Mephasm. You pick a strange and yet oddly fitting time to be coming to me with an offer." The elf's mind was racing; Ammon Jerro had made dozens of infernal pacts and had essentially survived, taking with him a few lovely glowing tattoos as souvenirs. And Sand, while his own knowledge of the Hells was painfully thin, knew striking a good bargain would lie in a game of words. His game to win. "My freedom? You can break the geas the Brotherhood has placed upon me? And what do you seek in return, my blue friend?"

Mephasm paused briefly, acknowledging the elf's sarcasm for what it was. The devil was no friend to anyone, and it could not be any other way: compassion and mercy had no place in the laws of the outer planes, where millions spent anguished eternities for such choices in life. Still, Mephasm knew, as Sand knew, that as limitless as his power was, he was bound to the unbreakable terms of the bargain itself. Indeed, Mephasm had plenty to offer those who knew who to ask.

"There is one way to end the geas," Mephasm said, "And you and I both know it will mean the end of you. If you finish the ritual, your usefulness will be outlived to the woman, and you will become a tool of the Brotherhood thereafter."

He looked at Sand intently. "To escape this fate, you must do as I ask. First, the woman Nivarra's ritual must be completed by you. In spite of the risk it entails, you will do so without harm - I will assure that. Though you think it unwise, she must become the Nightbringer. Do so, and the geas will be shattered instantly." Mephasm raised a closed fist, digging his nails into his long palm, then releasing them free bloodlessly.

He then stared at Sand with penetrating eyes. "But I require something of you in exchange. A being of such power cannot be allowed to roam free, however - she could do much harm to this world and many others. You must control her." He paused, noting the wizard's ears sharpen with interest, "As long as she lives, she is yours to command."

"The terms of our deal cannot be negotiated." Mephasm said resolutely as he extended his hand in offering. "Do you accept?"

Sand held up his hand and then paused. The devil had said the terms were non-negotiable; if they had been negotiable, what would he have changed? He found it very curious that Mephasm would both want him to complete the ritual _and _fear her power on Abeir-Toril. There was something odd in that and Sand definitely knew the motives of the fiend were not for the greater good of his health or Faerun.

Still - he was getting both his freedom and the power to control this avatar of Shar, which might just be the instrument they would need to turn the tide against the King of Shadows. If she could tap directly into the Shadow Weave, he would be able to use her to disrupt Garius' plans. Then he would like to see Nevalle or Nasher try to yank him along as their dutiful pet wizard and spy. He would like to see the Hosttower toy with him then.

The elf looked up into those infinitely powerful and evil eyes and for the small fraction of a moment, felt a deep cold, mistrust sink through him. Something was definitely afoot but he was now grasping at flimsy straws for his freedom, desperately trading one master for another. He always seemed to be trading up however, his masters becoming more cruel, more powerful...

He shook his head lightly - he had nearly gone willingly into the embrace of the Hosttwer of the Arcane. And that was the one place he had vowed he would never return. Sand closed the remaining distance between him and Mephasm and shook the icy blue hand.

Mephasm's grip was firm and the softness of his aged skin was unsettling. "Our bargain is made, Sand of Neverwinter." He said, shaking his hand and letting his long nails curve around the wizard's palm casually, "Now go, and do what must be done to get that which you rightly deserve."

Sand stepped back and watched the azure fiend shimmer and then fade from view. For a long time, Sand merely stood rooted to the spot, mulling over the events. The bargain had seemed safe enough; he hadn't bartered with his soul or anything foolish like that. Not that there was anything he could do now. This certainly was an eventful day; he was half expecting Garius to show up next and offer him a coveted spot by his side.

He looked down at his palm and started at the sight of a glowing glyph, which moved like quicksilver over his skin. An infernal mark. The warlock would be proud.

Sand re-entered the small cellar room and dumped out the contents of the bag. Using some chalk, he drew out a circle on the rough stone floor and then scattered the crushed stones and gem on his outline. He poured the vial of fiend's blood over top the powdered components, making a dark, sticky mess. Pulling out his notes and ignoring pointedly the twisting tattoo on his hand, he began copying out the ancient runes into the floor, using the feather of the achaierai dipped in the krakken ink to write it all out.

A half hour later he was done. His knees were sore from kneeling on the cobblestone and he stood slowly, wincing as he stretched his legs and back. The glyph seemed to glow brightly, approvingly at his handiwork and Sand returned back up the stairs to find Nivarra and wait for the darkest part of the night.

* * *

Torio had, with slightly fumbling fingers, helped wash, dress, and prepare Nivarra for whatever in the hells the woman was planning; she had donned a slim, smooth gown that was the deepest shade of black, purple iridescence shimmering through the fabric, and had made Torio help her put on a complicated necklace that dangled strangely symbolic, tiny amulets around her throat. She had been instructed to draw painstakingly delicate symbols around the palms of her hands and up her arms, and Torio's back, neck, and fingers were throbbing painfully by the time she was nearly completed from bending over and working with the tiny stick of charcoal.

She could feel the cool knives pressing against her skin as she worked, the small jar of poison a dead weight in her skirt pocket. If she could just get five seconds with the woman's back turned...

But it was somewhat useless; Nivarra's eyes watched her in the mirror constantly, her gaze sharp and wary, and Torio found herself thinking ungracious thoughts about her appearance..._hair is so thin, her entire body is thin, she looks like a half-strangled scarecrow..._

And then when she had finished, and had straightened, the woman in front of her looking like some dark-robed mystic, her hands had gone discreetly behind her back, attempting to work the knives from beneath her sleeves...

And then the door opened, and Sand reappeared, and Nivarra stood and moved away from her.

The woman glanced back at her. "Go on, run off and make yourself useful...see if the kitchens need help, or have the healer show you around. Guard! My maidservant is leaving."

And then the uniformed man was at her elbow, leading her out, and she could only glance back as the door shut behind her, cursing mentally in frustration.

* * *

Nivarra stared at Sand speculatively. "I trust you had no problems downstairs?" She glanced out the window; full dark was upon them, the last vestiges of sunlight wiped from the sky. "We have some time yet, wizard...I need to go over my portion of the ritual; make yourself busy." She sat down at her vanity, spreading sheaves of parchment in front of her; they both knew that she had her small contribution to the spell already memorized backwards and forwards, but she couldn't stop the nervous bubble of anxiety from rising up in her chest, and staring at the words in front of her gave her a small amount of comfort as she waited for midnight to come.

Sand sidestepped the new serving girl and then examined the symbols on Nivarra's hands and arms. "Good. These are accurate. Your serving girl is skilled with writing." He went to his chambers and collected vials of healing potion. His eyes took in the small room; he would not be feeling any regret at leaving it all behind tonight.

If all went well, he would be free from Luskan before the sun rose in the east tomorrow morning. He didn't care if he would have to swim out of the accursed city; he didn't even care if he drowned at sea at this point - so long as he didn't die in Luskan. But if he did it all correctly, he'd be out of Luskan and he would begin searching for Torio. And when he found her –

He had no idea what he would do.

He curled up on her bed, watching Nivarra study her notes. A few hours time and the tables would be turned and she would belong to him.


	40. Chapter 40

**Volume 3, Chapter 40: Selfish Bargains**

Sand must have dozed off; soon Nivarra was shaking his shoulders awake, her gaze distracted, excited. He sat up, wiping the sleep from his face. "Follow me, mistress." They exited her room and if the guard posted at her door thought anything odd of her appearance, he did not flinch or make any move. The two robed figures made their way through the darkened halls to the cellar and Sand led her to the room he had prepared.

"You must stand inside the circle. It will link your soul with the Shadow Weave." He moved around the room, extinguishing the torches and oil lamps, until it was only by the power of his elven vision that he could make his way around the room. There was the harsh sound of steel against stone as he picked up the new dagger and he reached out in the dark for Nivarra's hand. "My lady?"

Sand led her across the small cellar until her feet came in contact with a sticky, filmy residue; she nearly balked, but forced her nervousness down and stepped into the center of the circle....already, she could feel a tightly wound, heavy presence, as if Shar's eyes were already focused on her...

_Maybe they were._

There was a cold thrumming against her feet as soon as she turned to face Sand. She pressed her palms together, so that the delicately etched lines across her skin touched one another, and waited for Sand to begin the spell, the very air around her seeming to pulse with a quiet, patient energy.

* * *

Torio finally broke away from the servant's quarters once again, stealing softly through the nearly deserted hallways. She felt a thrum of nervousness as she turned the corner once again, expecting to see the guard standing outside of Nivarra's door...except the man wasn't there. Hardly believing her good luck, she stole towards the door and pushed it open a crack.

The room was dark, empty. Nivarra and Sand were not there. She felt a slight rush of panic...they hadn't left the house, had they? If she had gone somewhere, Torio was done; there was no way she could attempt to track down the woman in the middle of the city at night and successfully kill her.

Desperately she began checking doors to rooms down the long hallways, meeting with the same cold silence. The servants remaining hadn't even bothered to light fires in the closed off areas, and the manor was being invaded with an unearthly chill, as if there were no walls between her and the cold night air outside. And even as she walked down the hallways, it seemed to be getting darker. Torches sputtered, burned lower, and suddenly, as she turned the corner and faced a tall staircase, the flames suddenly sunk low in their torches and began burning a dark, smokey purple, the light dimming in the manor considerably.

_What in the hells was going on?_

The stairs ran upwards, and down, and she swallowed hard before slipping down the staircase, her softly slippered feet soundless as she moved down into the darkness, unsheathing the knives tied at her wrists.

* * *

Sand stood directly in front of her in the dark. Already the darkness was thick, tangible, so heavy that his eyes could barely make out any movements or shape. He lifted his arms and began casting _Shadow Walk_, the rehearsed words and motions coming from him easily, effortlessly. He felt the dark around them suddenly become _real_ as the spell finished; if he focused, it seemed as though he could travel for miles along the black umbra surrounding him.

A searing bolt of pure hatred lanced through his mind and he nearly bit his tongue. The loathing pressed down upon him; an unbridled hate that threatened his very spirit. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees and Sand shivered, both from the cold and the fear. Shar was definitely paying attention now.

Now for the interesting part of the ritual. Sand began casting a modified version of the _Magic Jar _spell, trying to force Nivarra's soul into the circle of crushed gems and fiend's blood, making her body a fresh and empty vesicle for Shar.

_Daughter…_

Nivarra's teeth were clenched together...the darkness tugged at her, tangible fingers of black shadow plucking at her robes, her hair, her skin, her soul...images flashed through her mind, and her mother's face, hazy and blurred with years of memory, calling out to her...her father, his features cloaked and flushed with anger, rage, hatred...

…_daughter…_

Sand finished the first spell, and suddenly a thick blanket of blackness settled over the room; she could squint, and see the small cellar they were in, now suffused with an eerie, hazy purple light...and she could see another cellar, identical and shadowed, superimposed over the real one.

A figure stood before her, watching her; Nivarra couldn't make out the features, but suddenly, an icy, dread fear filled her, and she let out a whimper, opening her mouth, fear driving her to order Sand to stop...

The second spell suddenly took effect, and she lost all conscious thought as she felt herself falling, seeping down towards the ground, her excitement and nervousness and terror all swallowed by a deep, black, nothingness.

Nivarra's body stood motionless, lifeless, her eyes empty as she gazed at the far wall.

* * *

The downstairs cellars were almost as confusing as the hallways up above her. Torio slithered through the darkness, hearing an echoing voice chanting words that she didn't understand somewhere ahead of her...the cellars were all full of supplies, bottles of wine, crates packed with random trinkets; she was getting closer, she knew it, and she followed the sound of chanting, quickening her pace when she realized it was Sand's voice.

* * *

Sand bowed his head low. They could only wait and see if the spirit of Shar would accept the girl's body as an adequate hostess. Sand had no idea what qualities Shar would seek in a human and he knew better than to open his mouth to convince a goddess otherwise.

The seconds turned to minutes; Sand struggled to keep still with the screeching animosity clawing at him from all sides. His heart sank; it was looking as though it wasn't going to work - and if it didn't work then he would be bound to the Hosttower for the rest of his life...

Suddenly the still corpse of Nivarra before him gave a gasp. The torches in the room were now lit with a dark purple light, illuminating the room with a light that hardly pierced the ebony atmosphere and yet at the same time, he could see everything perfectly. Sand looked up and into the eyes of the Avatar of Shar. Her eyes were black and limitless and they stared at him with an infinite rage.

Sand quickly dispelled the_ Magic Jar _spell, sending Nivarra's soul back into her body. Her form seemed to shudder angrily, conflicted, and her face was gnashing the air. But there was no time to stare in shock or awe; he now had to fuse the two souls within one body. The words for the modified _Soul Bind _spell were difficult and he closed his eyes, almost reading them off the page he had studied for so long. Before the last words had even left his lips, he gave the dagger to the figure in front of him and held out his arm, for her to make the shallow cut to signify the blood sacrifice. "A sacrifice from a child of Mystra to the Dark Goddess."

Nivarra's hands closed around the dagger, and she was suddenly, painfully aware....

It was pure power, tapped through the darkness that swirled at her feet. Shar's voice was a constant murmur in the back of her head, and her blood rushed anew, alighted with the sensation of the magics at her command, if but she asked for them.

The malevolence coursing through her was shaking her body with an almost physical force; her hands trembled as she lifted the dagger, pressing it to her lips, reciting the words that she had studied for so long. Everything snapped into focus the moment the last syllable left her lips, and her black, fathomless eyes focused on Sand's face as the Dark Lady crooned through her thoughts and Shar's essence fused with her own soul.

_Kill him.

* * *

_

Torio was running, desperately...the incantations had stopped, and she threw open the next door, met with only the dank musty darkness of another cellar. _Damn it!_ She turned, the last door rushing up to greet her; a thick, black fog was trailing from underneath the door, curling across the floor like spilled ink, and as she grasped the handle and flung it open, her eyes met with the sight of Nivarra...a strange, twisted version of Nivarra, her eyes black and glowing with hatred, inhuman and cold, her hair falling in black tendrils from her head and her skin cast grey and eerie in the purple light. She caught a flash of silver, and then let out a cry, too late, as the woman plunged the dagger deep into Sand's stomach.

She was moving before she had time to think, to realize that something had happened, to try and sort out _what _had happened. She felt a rocking, spasming force press against her body as her feet crossed the line of some oozing, dark circle marked out on the floor, and then her daggers plunged into Nivarra's back, the woman shuddering and arching in surprise even as she pulled the dagger from Sand's body.

Torio was flung almost instantly away, smacking into the wall immediately behind the woman, her head ringing as it banged against cold stone. Her poisoned blades clattered to the floor as her fingers went slack, and she crumpled in a dazed, rag-doll heap on the floor for a moment, the vision of Nivarra turning from Sand to gaze down at her blurred and unfocused...

* * *

Sand felt the geas inside him break before he felt the blade. The heaviness in chest was lifted off, and he exhaled in relief, feeling so light he could almost fly. He was free - finally free, truly free...

Her quick thrust surprised him. It really did. His arm was still outstretched in front of him, a faint smile still on his lips as he looked down and saw the blade disappear into his middle and then withdraw, his blood gleaming darkly in the violet light. It all happened so slowly, it was as if he was watching it happening to somebody else, detached from his own body. There was no pain at first and then a sudden flood of white hot pain that radiated across every nerve of his being. _This wasn't part of the plan at all…_

There was a flurry of movement around him and he looked confusedly at the new serving girl ran in and stabbed Nivarra ... no, she was the Nightbringer now.

_What on Toril was the girl doing? _The girl was magically thrown halfway across the room and slumped against the floor. The Nightbringer was turning on her now...

Sand tried calling out to the young chambermaid, wanting to tell her that it was all right, except it really wasn't all right and he could feel the blood bubbling up his throat even as he tried speaking. The wound hurt, a lot, and he staggered back from the circle. The room was getting gray and spotty...

_The healing vials._ His hands were shaking now from the loss of blood as he reached through his robes for the vials he had taken earlier from upstairs. The first vial slipped from his fingers, smashing on the ground and he felt a desperate sob gurgling up in his throat as he searched for the second vial. He found it and uncorked it, swallowing the entire contents in one gulp.

His vision cleared and he stumbled forward. "Nivarra...please... control."

Nivarra bent over the small serving girl as she tried to sit up, a dark trickle of blood oozing down the side of her head. Her back felt hot, surprisingly hot, the burning pain spreading through her skin even as she bent down, grasping her fingers around the smaller woman's throat.

She was lifted easily; Nivarra nearly laughed at the strength with which she simply moved, her body filled near to bursting with Shar's power. "What are you?" She said quietly, ignoring Sand's gurgling voice behind her; her own voice sounded heavy, deadened, a strange, deep echo underlying her words. "I can..._see _you...you are not this waistrel that I see before me." The girl's fingers clawed at her hand as she held her high above the ground, and Nivarra winced as a spasm of shooting pain, somewhere in the far of reaches of her brain, warned her that the spreading heat through her back was not slowing down.

Torio kicked out, as hard as she could, and connected with Nivarra's body; Nivarra showed no sign of any visible pain, but she dropped her, and this time Torio rolled as she hit the ground, scrambling shakily to her feet. Her fingers clawed, shredded at her skirt until she could reach the hilt of the long dagger strapped to her thigh and slide it out, her arm shaking as she held it in front of her, pointed at Nivarra's furious form.

"_Damn _it, Sand," she rasped out, her throat constricted from the bruising grasp of Nivarra's fingers. "Will you look with more than your eyes? It's _me, _bodaes_.._." The words were strangled in her throat as she realized the Nightbringer was gesturing, and suddenly Torio gasped, dodging a bright ray of magical red energy, the _Harm _spell glancing off of her shoulder. She whimpered in pain, and lashed out wildly, lunging at the laughing Nivarra with her blade.

The girl's voice was thin, reedy and high-pitched but the words were Torio's - _all Torio's_ - and the Nightbringer was hurting her. That particular, prickly protectiveness which seemed to flare up whenever Torio was threatened was back. Sand leapt forward, ignoring the pain of the newly healed skin of his stomach being stretched open again and tried to place himself between the two. "Both of you, please stop!" He had to stop the Nightbringer from hurting Torio, Torio who was now back in Luskan with him again and standing by his side, and he had to stop Torio from hurting the Nightbringer, who was his leverage against the Brotherhood, who would be their secret weapon against Garius.

But already Torio had another blade out and was driving it forward towards the Nightbringer. Sand saw the flash of steel become embedded in the Avatar's front; he yanked Torio's hand free from the dagger before she could stab again, while shouting at the Nightbringer, "You are mine to command. Stop your attack, now!" He was clutching Torio's hand tightly, his fingers trembling; both to stop her from retaliating and because he was afraid if he let her go, the fates would wrench her away from him again.

Both women seemed to freeze for a moment, their eyes fixed on each other. Torio's fingers clasped at Sand's tightly, near vise-like in their grip, while Nivarra's form seemed to twitch, writhe, and fall still, her black eyes gleaming coldly at the small, waif-like girl before her.

Torio was breathing hard, her skin blistered and scoured from where the spell hit her; the Nightbringer was still impaled shallowly on the dagger, and Nivarra's hands simply tugged at the hilt and let it drop, black, slick blood spreading over the front of her robes. Her limbs were twitching...Torio wondered vaguely how long the poison would take to work, and if it would work regardless. But the Nightbringer merely stood there, unable to move after Sand's command, her face radiating hatred and a strange, malevolent calm, even as her robes ran dark with blood oozing from her wounds.

Torio looked at Sand, her eyes flickering over his purple-cast features, barely making them out in the darkness, and yet she could still see the blue gleam of his eyes as they darted rapidly between her and the Nightbringer. "She's poisoned," she said flatly. "Let go of me, I _have _to kill her...Mephasm…" Her eyes narrowed somewhat at Sand and she lowered her voice. "And I thought _you _were held geased by _her_? Fen is waiting for us, we can't get you out if you're still held..."

Her voice faltered uncertainly, and Nivarra began to laugh.

"I know who you are," said the silky, unearthly voice issuing from the Nightbringer's mouth. "I can see the infernal taint on you, following you through the planes like a shadow. You've come to kill me?" Her mouth curled into a smile, her black eyes flashing with a deep violet light. "Ah, but he won't let me die...for that was part of _your_ deal, was it not, Sand?" The "S" in Sand's name was nearly spat, the syllable rolling snake-like off her tongue, the raw hatred in her eyes evident as she stared at the elf. "Such potential in both of you; I could take you both, twist you, cleanse you from feeling and the inanity of life...so many things you strive to keep hidden, from the plane that you walk, from those who rely on you, from each other...hidden, but not forgotten." She laughed again, and this time her voice changed subtly, the slightly inhuman overnote gone; it was Nivarra's voice, and her black eyes fixed on Torio. "He bedded me almost every night," she whispered sibilantly. "Quite enthusiastically. I've never had a slave of such…caliber, before." She smiled as she repeated the words she had spoken to Sand many days before, and Torio let out a near strangled snarl before lunging forward, trying to wrap her small, girlish fingers around the Nightbringer's neck, her hand still held fast in Sand's.

Last time he had stopped Torio from killing somebody, namely Drakken, the man had come back and sent Sand through the longest, darkest journey of his life. He looked deep into Torio's eyes, recognizing them now, recognizing the shape and pattern of the iris. How often had he stared into those eyes - challengingly, amusedly, mockingly, lovingly - but had he ever looked at her trustingly?

He turned the Nightbringer and said softly, but in the silence, his voice carried far. "I can let you die. My part of the bargain is complete. I don't need you to die to be free. The geas are all broken. I'm free." And he held up his palm, Mephasm's glyph now faded completely, his palm unmarred as before. He had completed the ritual and as promised, he had emerged relatively unscathed and in full control. "And moreover - _I own you now_."

He let go of Torio's hands. He trusted her to do the right thing.

* * *

Torio lunged forward as soon as she felt Sand's grip release her; the Nightbringer's eyes widened almost imperceptibly in shock before the two women collided, tumbling down into a heap. The wall opposite Torio was blasted into pieces as Nivarra got off a spell, missing her completely.

Sand threw himself against the ground when the first spell fired, smashing the stones of the wall to bits; he thought he had told the Nightbringer not to attack - was his control on her slipping? Was she more powerful than he had anticipated? Was there something in Mephasm's words that he had missed?

_Had he sent Torio to her death?_

Shadows swallowed them, crawling up the floor and slithering over their bodies as if the darkness was a tangible creature, sliding hungrily over them; Torio was trying to get her hands around Nivarra's throat, and the Nightbringer was incanting, cursing, and attempting to prevent this while simultaneously casting spells.

Sand struggled to his feet, about to jump into the fray, to help Torio and stop the Nightbringer, when dark swirling shapes enveloped the two fighting woman. He knew they were mere shadows and yet they appeared thicker and harder than a wall of rock. Every time he came near, quiet menacing voices penetrated his mind...

_Stay back, moon elf. We are the shadows where the light of Selune dare not tread._

_You are not welcome here, Follower of Mystra. _

Another red beam of light shot from the Nightbringer's fingertips, searing Torio high on her thigh, and she choked on a cry, balling her hand into a fist and slamming it down into Nivarra's face...which also hurt. But Avatar or no, the body that the Nightbringer was inhabiting was still human, and it was weakening; blood made the floor beneath their writhing bodies slippery, and as Nivarra laughed in triumph, flipping their positions and pinning Torio beneath her, Torio's hand fell on one of the poisoned daggers lying forgotten on the floor by the wall.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. She drove the dagger straight into Nivarra's chest, the blade slipping slightly as it connected with bone, jarred through ribs, and sank into her heart, black blood spilling down onto her hands and down her arms. The Nightbringer's grey, shadowed face above her froze, the laughter dying on Nivarra's lips. Her fingers clawed feebly up Torio's slender neck, grasping for purchase, even as she fell over, sprawling out onto her back, her body convulsing uncontrollably as the poison that had been slowly seeping through her body was directly shot into her heart. A breathy, rattle-like gasp tore through her throat, and for one single moment, her black, fathomless eyes fixed on Sand; her fingers twitched, reaching, imploring....

...and then she lay still, the glowing, violet light behind her eyes dimmed and gone.

* * *

Sand let out a frustrated cry, unable to see what was happening when as suddenly as they came, the shadows dissipated like mist in the dawn. Nivarra was lying on her back and she was looking at him - the blackness of her eyes draining slightly until he could see hints of hazel again. A thin dagger protruded from her chest, which was heaving erratically in her death throes. There was a guilty pang inside of him and he almost reached out for her.

But the eyes emptied of life and it was done.

Torio pushed herself up into a sitting position, and pulled her sleeve up with fumbling fingers; she watched as the glyph that danced over the skin of her shoulder flashed once, brilliantly, and then faded as if it had never been there.

Her eyes met Sand's for a moment, and then she sagged forward over her knees, blood dripping down her arms and splattering onto the floor.

He crawled forward on his hands and knees, watching a familiar glyph on Torio's shoulder disappear. He approached her warily at first and then threw all caution to the wind, wrapping his arms around her polymorphed shoulders and crushing her body to him. "Helkaer."

"All bargains are now fulfilled," Mephasm spoke suddenly, his resonant voice heavy with satisfaction. "You are both free on Toril, as promised. Free," he slowed, noticing their desperate embrace, "to do whatever you chose, with whomever you deem worthy. Though your lives may yet end at any time, they are yours to shape once again."

"All bargains?" Sand glanced at Torio; just how many deals with the blue devil had been struck between the both of them? He had seen the mark fade from her skin as well. He inched around slowly, keeping his body between Mephasm and Torio. A pointless though gallant gesture, he knew. The devil could kill them all with a mere flick of his wrist.

The shadows separated and Mephasm slithered toward Nivarra's body and kneeled beside it. Delicately he wrapped his clawed hands around her cheeks, cold even to him. He turned her limp head and let her glossed-over eyes face his own. Satisfied, he stood up and turned to Sand, "I have come for my property. The girl is mine."

Sand suddenly had a very unpleasant feeling of being used again. Nivarra had been correct - he really was nothing more than an eager little tool. It seemed as though every one was eager to use him; as eager as he had been to use Alaine during the trial despite Shandra's protests. The irony amused some deep-seated part of him that wasn't alarmed at the reappearance of the fiend.

Nivarra. "The terms of our contracts says the girl was to be under my control. How is she now your property? She's just a corpse."

"It is not her body for which I negotiated. It is her soul, which carries with it a fraction of the Nightbringer." Mephasm eyed her selfishly, caressing her skin as he did so as if he were polishing a gemstone. "You negotiated for the services of a living Nightbringer, and you were given those in full. But this woman is now of the dead and gone. The spirits of those who fail in the service of fickle Gods find little solace in the planes, and end up in the well of souls that is my world. She is therefore mine, and all power that she is too."

Sand stared at Mephasm touching the dead body with a poorly hidden shudder of revulsion. His pity and sympathy for Nivarra grew at the thought of her eternal servitude in the Hells. She probably deserved it, oh yes, but after his brief stint as an unwilling slave... And a small part of him couldn't help but feel disappointed at the loss of such a powerful instrument and the sting of his pride at somehow being contractually gullible because of one word - 'living'. She was no longer living, now, was she? He would not be mentioning _this_ to the warlock.

Sand's arms around her had been brief and heavenly and painfully familiar and then Mephasm had shown up..._definitely a bad copper, that one. _Torio watched silently, her eyes focused on Mephasm as she stood, her borrowed body aching. She was mildly astonished at the depth at which she...they both...had been played. He had to have been watching them both, orchestrating the entire thing, just to get his hands on the pitiful little soul of some power hungry Luskan woman...

_You're being ungracious again, Torio._

She watch in steely silence as Mephasm spoke, his blue skinned hands caressing the greyed, cold skin of the woman she had just killed. _You've traded your time in the hells for another woman's time_...and it had truly been either her or Nivarra, as she listened to the devil detail his machinations absently, as if he had merely acquired some precious artifact and not the soul of a living woman.

She had done worse, before. At least this time around, her own continued survival had been at stake. She felt almost the tiniest twinge of guilt in the back of her mind, for she remembered clearly that as her dagger had slid between Nivarra's ribs, there had been the tiniest crowing of triumph, a flash of smug victory..._so there, you harpy bitch. _

Oh yes, she had done worse_..._but she'd never felt guilty about it, either.

As a Nightbringer she was a danger and a threat to all. But what they had done to her - was this murder? Sand never felt as though any murder was truly just but he could hardly see anyone bringing her to trial, or having her executed. Not here. Not in Luskan. His mind sought to justify their actions, their bargains, working through what had happened to him. He didn't even know what had happened between the fiend and Torio. Actually - he didn't even know what had happened to Torio since they parted ways all those long, lonely days ago. He looked again at Nivarra's limp body - remembering her cruelty, her hands on his skin, her mouth on his, her face after meeting with her father, and the way she always seemed to follow in Dornan's footstep - and the elf said simply, "Treat her well."

Torio eyed Mephasm as she walked forward, burrowing down comfortably into her acid-tipped tongue. "As sentimental as this heartfelt exchange really _is_, the elf and I have a contact to meet that just _might _get us out of this city alive." Her entire body was aching to touch Sand, to reassure herself that he was actually real...the entire scenario was so outlandish that she wouldn't be surprised if it all turned out to be a dream. She stared hard at Mephasm. "Enjoy your new prize, devil. You've apparently dealt rather hard for it."

"In truth, it was quite easy." Mephasm contended. "You each would deal only for yourself, and would be prepared to give up nearly anything in return. Each of you willingly chose someone else to die in your place." He held for a moment until the harsh words could be swallowed. "Alone, each of your deals were flawless, and you stood to gain much. But you failed to consider each other," His long mouth nearly curled into a smile, "as you so often do. Together, your selfish bargains neutralized one another - and left a woman dead and a devil mightier than ever."

Mephasm floated into the air, pulling away from the two. "Still, you have your freedom," Mephasm said mockingly, ironically still a prisoner within the Keep, "Which is something quite valuable. Sand of Neverwinter, it is promised to you that she will see the finest care that can be had in the planes beyond this. But for those who cross her path, I can promise nothing."

His countenance was fast fading as he rose, a shredded silhouette bound for the skies. Still, even at the most tense of times, his manners were acute and precise as he bowed farewell. "Goodbye, and I look forward to our next meeting. I'll be watching."

As soon as Mephasm disappeared, the lights blinked out. Darkness fell on them, cold and claustrophobic...but unlike the magical, writhing, living darkness that came summoned by Shar, this was merely normal inky blackness caused by the lack of any light whatsoever. Torio reached out blindly, and grasped for Sand's hand. "See if you can get us upstairs," she whispered, and then wondered inanely why she did so; the corpse might overhear them, perhaps? She was shaking slightly, her body pumping adrenaline through her so fast that her heart was sputtering along doggedly behind it in an attempt to keep up. "I should be able to lead us back to Fen from there once I can see properly."

She tried to ignore the creeping chill that began to steal over her at the thought of attempting to escape Luskan once more. Their last escape had been such a fantastic failure that she liked to think they were owed something...that after clawing her way through planes and through devils and heartache and pirates and infested hosts for dark goddesses that the gods might actually have pity on them. For once.

She wasn't holding her breath...they were still in very real danger. She swallowed hard as Sand pulled her out of the room, their feet shuffling over stones she couldn't see as he led them towards the stairs.


	41. Chapter 41

**Volume 3, Chapter 41: Humble Home**

Sand broke into a half-jog, practically dragging Torio along once they were on the floor with the servants' quarters. He mentally tried reaching out to her, to tell her of his plan but with a chagrin realized that he was still telepathically bound to Matthew.

He hissed, "I have to tell the healer to get out. Alysin...she's been kind to me." He led her quickly through the quiet hallways until he was before the cleric's door, rapping softly.

The door swung open after a few minutes of quiet shuffling and Alysin took one look at them, covered in blood, dirt, dust and powdered gems. The cut on his stomach had reopened uncomfortably but there was no time to worry about it. "Oh my word... wha - "

Sand cut in, "Nivarra's dead. Dark magic - the girl tried to do a ritual she wasn't ready for. Alysin, dear girl, you have to get out of here and disappear for a bit. The Hosttower will be questioning everybody in the mansion about this." He tightened his grip on Torio's hand. "The girl here has a means to get out."

Alysin seemed to take it all in stride; there were no shocked exclamations, although the woman's shoulder seemed to sag in something suspiciously akin to relief before she straightened in a business like fashion. "Your words are duly noted; I'll return to my order tonight and inform them of what's happened." She eyed them critically, and then reached out, dragging them both into her chambers and shutting the door behind them. "Sorry, but it's a nasty habit of mine, healing people...hold still, dearies, this won't take but a moment...

Torio jumped slightly as Alysin's hands touched the top of her head, the elderly woman praying quietly; there was a flash of light, and the throbbing burning that had up until that point been overlooked in her arm and leg disappeared; she glanced down at the smoked, charred holes in her dress, but the skin underneath was smooth and perfect.

"He's injured too-"

"Already ahead of you, dear." The cleric prayed over Sand's head, and a twin flash of light, brilliant and brief, took Sand's wounds away with it as it left. She nodded at them firmly. "Now go; I'll be all right. You've done a great good here, Sand; I am only sorry you had to suffer so for it." She patted Sand's cheek affectionately, and then shooed them out of her room, the door shutting firmly behind them.

Torio didn't waste a second; she pulled Sand behind her, her eyes darting desperately down the long halls and corridors until she finally recognized the hall Alysin had led her down from the servants quarters. She practically sprinted past the kitchens, hearing the off-color cursing and jaunty whistling of the night crew as they prepared breakfast for a woman lying dead in the cellars beneath their feet. She slowed herself down to a walk, ducking her head, her hand tightening like a vise around Sand's as they passed a pair of guards, but the men were deep in a half-drowsy discussion, half-empty tankards in front of them on a small card table, and they barely glanced at them as they passed by. She pushed open the doors to the servants quarters and drew Sand across the long sleeping hall, passed bewildered looking, starched-white servants that were folding linen on the long table, and practically dragged Sand into the shadows that constantly seemed to hug the back of the room.

The alcove was waiting for them; she pushed the wall hanging aside and removed the grating the way Fen had done it, and then gestured for Sand to enter. "Fen should be on the other side," she said anxiously...hopefully. _If she wasn't..._

Sand climbed into the small tunnel, moving forward slightly so that he could be joined by Torio. When he felt her presence by him and heard the grating shut with a soft click, he began crawling forward, his eyes making out the minor details of the tunnel. At least it was clean and dry here. His poor robes were absolutely ruined now though, but every inch forward was an inch away from Luskan.

A shape stirred ahead of him and he froze, Torio bumping into his backside. Sand squinted slightly; it was a woman, half-asleep and waking as they approached. As he neared, he recognized the half-elven Fen and he sped up, giving up on trying to appear dignified, calm, cool and collected as he crawled through the tunnel. "Fen, girl! It's us - get us out of here."

Fen snapped upright, her expression obviously relieved as the dim light around them revealed her features. "Thank the gods...follow me, quickly." She turned and began leading them through the dank, dripping sewers, her feet silent despite the fact that they crossed slime and loose stones, water-sprayed surfaces and puddles that splashed when Torio or Sand's feet sloshed through them. The sewers were heavy with a thick, oppressive air; twice, they had to backtrack and take a longer way around marauding, raucously bands of vagabonds as they drank themselves into oblivion for the evening. As they neared the entrance back up to the street, Fen's voice whispered back to her, "The guards will be a while coming to Nivarra's manse; the Harbor Master's ship was conveniently stolen early this evening, and it has every squad in chaos at the moment." There was a flash of white teeth as she grinned back at them. "Not bad for a distraction, if I do say so myself."

It was true to Fen' description; the guards were running down streets, sweating and strain-faced under barking orders from Captains as they moved, all heading to the Docks and closing off the surrounding areas. Fen removed her own cloak, and tossed it to Sand. "Cover your face with this; I've no idea if anyone outside of the estate will recognize you, but I'm not chancing anything."

They dodged most of the more organized patrols; a few guards shouted after them as if they intended to stop the trio, but they moved too quickly and used too many side streets that any pretense of pursuit was soon forgotten in the greater hubbub. Maxxil's shop loomed up in the dark ahead of them, and Fen quickly rapped on the side door in a series of patterned knocks.

They were ushered into the dark shop, Wescett's silhouette visible in the torchlight. "Maxxil's sleeping; Jearl's gone back to head quarters. Come, downstairs, quickly." He led them down the hidden staircase to the basement, where lamps were fully lit, giving the room a warm feel. Without being invited, Sand sagged into a wooden chair, holding his head with his hands. He wondered if the Brotherhood knew yet, that the geas had been broken. Probably - he wouldn't be surprised if Nivarra's mansion was full of mages before it was full of city guards.

He looked up over his hands at Torio, still in her disguise, standing there. Vergo had said they were looking for her, scrying her position. "We have to get out of here right away. I don't know what brilliant plan you have for that, but the Hosttower has been tracking Torio's position for days, it seems and I wouldn't be surprised if they were searching for her - us - at this very moment."

Fen and Wescett exchanged glances, and then the former nodded, once. Wescett said, quietly, "We can let you take the portal, back to...headquarters. It's far from here, but it's a safe place."

Fen' voice was wry. "At this point, far away from here is definitely what we want."

Torio pinched the bridge of her nose, pacing in the small room. "Where, exactly, is 'headquarters?'"

Wescett grinned at her. "We can't tell you that now, can we?"

"It'll be safe," said Fen soothingly. "And there will be multiple ways you can get back to Neverwinter from there; but getting you out of Luskan is what we promised, and this is the surest bet you have."

Torio met Sand's eyes. The last time they had tried an elaborate plot to sneak out from under Luskan's nose, it had...well, they both knew how it had gone. She regarded him for a long moment, and then gave a tired shrug of her shoulders. "I'm willing if you are," she said evenly.

Sand nodded. "Yup. Totally willing. Let's get out of here." He turned to the others. "I'm sorry to break up this cheerful rescue party and all but really, we must be going."

Wescett smirked, "I don't blame you, Sand. After what you've been through? I'd never leave my home again." The two agents led them behind the curtain, to a much smaller room. The room had no decoration whatsoever; but not that it would have mattered, for all eyes would have been instantly drawn to the multihued, crystalline portal set up on the far wall. The portal looked almost like a mirror, framed by a simple gold frame decorated with stars and runes. If he squinted through, he could make out vague shapes moving back and forth. Sand turned to Fen. "Impressive. It must have taken a great deal of arcane juggling to do this right beneath the Brotherhood's nose."

She nodded proudly. "Yes. And so I hope you understand that we need you both to be confidential about the portal and the Moonstars' activities here."

The wizard smiled, "Of course. I could do nothing less for our saviors." He turned to Torio. "Ready, dear girl?"

Torio nodded. "As I'll ever be." There were only the briefest flashes of smiles as the two agents waved them through; Sand gripped her hand and drew her into the writhing mass of light between the gold frame, and there was a strange, pulling, stretching sensation, the air pressed from her lungs...

And then they were stumbling forward into a high, round tower room, the walls lined with portals identical to their own. The far door that led out of the room to a staircase was open, and a robed guard straightened as he caught sight of them, his eyes narrowed. "State your business," he said, pulling his staff around in front of him and pointing the knobbed end in their direction.

Torio's voice interjected quickly. "Agents from Luskan," she said wearily, gesturing to their rather be-tattered appearance. "Maxxil sent us through; we're just passing."

The guard gave a perfunctory nod and as he was going back to his post, a large woman was bustling through the doorway towards them. "Torio! You've made it! And this must be Sand." She shook his hand firmly, nearly crushing the bone. "I am Ivery. I gave the girl this body. Do you like it?"

Sand coughed politely. "She looks like a serving girl. Well done."

The mage gave him a knowing laugh. "Well we couldn't have her flouncing through there like a princess, now, could we? Or looking like a certain red-headed lawyer."

Sand whirled to face Torio. "I...That was you? Why didn't you say anything, girl?" The pieces were falling into place, slowly. No wonder Ednia Rexall had reminded him so much of Torio in speech and mannerism; it had been Torio. The smell, the eyes... "Thought to dangle me unknowingly into Luskan a little further, hmm?"

Torio's mouth quirked at him. "What was I supposed to do, Sand? I was expressly told not to let on who I was, for fear of endangering the Moonstars rather intricate and culminating plan." She ran a hand through the thin, dull hair that currently graced her scalp, avoiding Sand's gaze. "It was hard enough not to give it away as it was." An understatement if she had ever heard one; it was nearly excruciating, having been so close to him and unable to acknowledge him in the slightest, past the cordiality one lawyer afforded another. "Besides, what could you have possibly done if you'd have known it was me?"

Sand exhaled in frustration. "I don't know but...do you know how much I've missed you?" The last words came out in an outburst, sounding almost angry. By the gods, he had even called out Torio's name once when he had been with Nivarra, to painful ends. He calmed himself nearly immediately and gave Ivery a small smile. "I'm sorry - I don't mean to make our private issues public."

The mage placed her large hands on his shoulders, her eyes understanding. "Go home, you two. We'll arrange for horses or a carriage..." But Sand interrupted her, "No. Thank you for your kindness and generosity but now that we're away from Luskan, I will teleport us away. I nearly lost her last time we tried escaping. I won't risk it again. I only need a private room."

Ivery gestured for them to follow her. "That, we have many." She opened a small door to the side. It was hardly bigger than a broom closet and was stuffed full of knickknacks. She hovered for a moment, "Thank you. We will be letting those of our organization know of what you both did for us so that if you ever need help...we will not be far." She shut the door and Sand turned to face Torio.

"Hold on to me, my dear." He had no idea where they were currently; Icewind Dale? Rasheman? Amn? But he knew where he wanted to be. Wescett had said he'd never leave home again after such an ordeal. Ivery had told him to go home. He closed his eyes and began the incantation, his arms wrapped snugly around Torio's waist. He was picturing a large comfortable bed, a desk, some alchemical equipment, the smell of the salty sea air, Duncan's voice yelling at drunken patron, the shouts of sailors and...

A loud bang, swirling sickening darkness and then they both landed hard on an immaculately polished wooden floor.

Torio kept her arms around Sand, clinging to him with far more vehemence than she knew was probably necessary for a teleportation spell; she pressed her face into his shoulder for a moment, her eyes shut, inhaling raggedly; he smelled like blood and burnt spell-components, but underneath it the faint tingle of magic tickled her nostrils...

She had no idea where they were. She didn't care...he had missed her...they were safe...oh gods, she was touching him, he was really here, they were...

"Sand..."

Her voice was half-strangled in her throat and half-smothered against his shoulder. Wetness spilled from her eyes, and she let out a slow, shaky breath against his body, finally lifting her head, her arms still clutched around him. "Where are we?" It was a rather cozy, rather dusty looking bedroom, with strange artifacts adorning the walls and a few stray socks scattered across the floor. She caught, then, a reflection of both of them in a long full length mirror off against the far wall....Sand holding the thin serving girl. "By gods, change me back, already, I look like a scarecrow with a bout of the plague..."

And then she began crying in earnest, embarrassing tears sliding down her cheeks, while her short, sharp sobs were interspersed with hiccuping laughter.

"We're home. This...this is my home, in Neverwinter. You've never seen it before, have you? At least not the inside of it." Sand led her silently to his bed and dispelled the _Polymorph_. He had been with her now for nearly two hours and he hadn't yet seen her. His breath caught as she shimmered back into view: her thick gorgeous brown hair, her feminine curves, her ample breasts, her pert nose and coral lips, her full cheeks...

She was back.

He pressed his forehead against her, feeling her shake slightly as she cried and laughed. His own eyes felt wet and he pulled her closer to him, letting the tears of joy and relief fall silently as they held each other for many minutes. He could hear the cries of gulls outside his window, and smell the rotting fish and sea breeze of the Docks. _He was home._ So many questions had he, so much he wanted to know about where she had been and what she had been doing, and yet... "Torio, dear girl, at least now I hope you will consider marrying me one day."

Torio half-laughed, half-choked. "I just crossed an entire plane, bargained with Mephasm and killed...whatever that thing was, to get back to you, and you'd 'like me to consider it?'" She pulled back slightly from him, wiping her eyes and glancing at him from behind her fingers, before pressing her face into her hand and chuckling dryly. "I'll keep it in mind, bodaes...but if I do, you'll have to promise not to spell me off to distant planes whenever you grow irritated with me."

Sand's heart swelled until he thought it would burst; she had said she would keep it in mind! Which, for Torio, was practically a yes. "Perhaps next time I spell you away to the Planes I'll remember to attach myself to the spell as well and we can do some sightseeing together." He laughed at how quaint that sounded. "Quite frankly, my dear, it seems at though I can't travel through Faerun without somebody trying to stick a sword through me. Time to see if I can rack up an impressive list of foes elsewhere."

For a moment it felt as if they had never been separated; the quick, teasing way she used when speaking with him fell naturally back on her tongue. Even calling him _bodaes _simply happened of its own accord. And yet....there was no denying what had happened to both of them, and as she gazed around Sand's bedroom, taking in the little details...she sobered slowly, the dead weight of where they were sinking in.

"Sand," she said quietly; she kept her hands lightly on his shoulders, afraid to lose physical contact with him even for a moment. "They'll know we're here." She held up her braceleted hand, the object now nearly a part of her as the limb it was attached to. "If...if the Hosttower was tracking me, like you said, surely the Cloaktower is too..." And she wasn't ready to face the barrage from Castle Never, not yet...the questions, the constant repetition of their accounts...the replacement of the enchantments on her person...

Her mouth drew into a thin line. "I'll not let them place the spells on me again."

Sand tapped the bracelet. "I won't let them place the spells on you again. I'll just spell you away again if they try," he said brightly and then backed down. "I'm only teasing, dear girl. Really!" He stood and began picking up the stray socks, thinking. "I'm not afraid of Nasher or Vale or Nevalle any longer; if they put the spells on, I'll just remove them. I know how now - a simple _Disjunction_ spell ought to do it." He silently thanked Nivarra's extensive book collection and then as an afterthought, thanked the girl for having it. "And if they persist in putting on the enchantments? I'll keep removing them until they get the message. What are they going to do, hang me?" He gave a short, sharp laugh, feeling nearly invincible having escaped the Brotherhood. Again. For the third time in his life. "I'd like to see them try, dear girl. But don't forget, we still have our rewards for successfully retrieving the map. That can be your request."

"But in the mean time, my dear Torio, let us remove that bracelet from you and destroy it." Sand went to his desk and rummaged through the stacks of scroll until he found the one he was looking for. He returned to her side and carefully held the bracelet between his fingers, and read the scroll for the _Break Enchantment _spell. Immediately, the bracelet snapped open and fell to the bed, between them, like a dead silver worm. Sand glanced out the window; it was the dead of night, they both needed sleep and privacy and time alone together... He stood determinedly drawing the curtains shut with a snap and then cast every single anti-scrying and illusion spell he knew, on his shop, himself, Torio. He would be very surprised if Mystra herself would be able to peer inside his little humble home for the next day or two.

Sand leaned forward and kissed her, feeling like he was kissing her for the first time. He inhaled - _books and candlewax _- and lifted his hands to hold her face gently to his. "My dear girl, I have secured our privacy for a full day..." An echo of the words he had used so long ago, in the library.

* * *

"Master!"

Vale's eyes snapped open. One of his rather young, half-elven acolytes was standing before him, wringing his hands. He blinked slowly, and uncurled himself from the sitting position he had been peacefully meditating in. He hardly needed proper sleep these days; a few hours lost in mindless thought and he felt well enough rested to face Nasher.

He hoped.

"What is it, Versivis?"

"Master, they were able to track Torio Claven on Toril...she's here, Master!"

Vale stiffened, his eyes narrowed. "Where is she?"

The half-elf's face flushed a deep scarlet. "Er...we don't know. We lost trace of her almost immediately after our spells registered her presence. It's as if she disappeared."

Vale pinched the bridge of his nose, silent for a moment. He very well couldn't tell Nasher that Torio was in the city and yet they couldn't track her whereabouts...it could, after all, be something wrong with the spell, and not anything to be worried about. "Keep an eye open, then," he said brusquely. "I go to see His Lordship; I'll return shortly."

_He hoped._

_

* * *

_Nasher stood at the window of his private study, staring from the high tower over at the sprawling, open air of the Blakelake District. The dawning sun cast a warm, embracing glow over the entire city and he felt temporarily awed. Neverwinter. His Neverwinter. She had seen much destruction and bloodshed and yet here she still stood, in all her resplendent glory.

There was a knock at his door. "Come in."

He heard the door opening and a shuffling of robes. Nasher turned, surprised to see the wizard Vale before him. He had half been expecting to see Gend again. Gend, ranting and raving about how they couldn't leave more spies behind to die. Gend who was very likely collecting spy reports at the very moment. "Vale. How good of you to come see me." The elf's face was unflappable yet there was some disquiet in his eyes. "Something urgent to report?"

Vale gave Nasher a curt nod. "You look well rested, my lord." He gazed around Nasher's study for a moment, avoiding Nasher's gaze. "I'm here to...discuss recent information with you. I spoke to Gend last night; he seems rather disturbed over leaving a member of Knight Captain's entourage to his fate."

Vale gestured quickly before Nasher could speak, plunging onward. "We found out more about what might have happened to both Sand and Torio Claven, my lord." He calmly related their theory; the rumors of the sea battle off the coast of Port Llast coinciding with Torio's last know position before she disappeared. "I believe that a _Wish_ spell could have been the only thing to remove Torio so effectively from this plane; Gend believes that Sand himself must have cast the spell before he was captured. More likely than not to protect her." His voice was calm, businesslike, but he could still feel their gravity, the seriousness of what he was saying, what he was implying. "The fact that he can cast a spell of such intricacy...." He sighed. "I feel it's incredibly ill-advised to leave the elf to Luskan's machinations. We're not in a position to be giving up powerful wizards to our enemies, not with the war..."

Nasher did not move from his position by the window. "Sand wanting to protect Torio? Sand the elf and Torio Claven, former ambassador? If I hadn't forced them to vow to protect each other I would have sworn your information was blatantly incorrect, Vale. But you are one of my most trusted." His eyes flicked over again to the waking city below him. "So Torio is gone and if I read your voice correctly, wizard, you think we should go after Sand."

His eyes slid to the elf standing before him again. "If Sand is so powerful, why was he never recruited to the Cloaktower? Why are we only finding out now about his powers when Luskan already has him?" Nasher took a step away from the window and towards Vale. "And more importantly, is a rescue mission worth the risk of another war with Luskan?"

"That, ultimately, is up to you, my lord." Vale watched Nasher standing at the window; the years were beginning to sit heavily on his old friend. "But, I'm afraid leaving Sand to his devices isn't a very wise option; if he's powerful enough to send Claven to another plane merely from his own well of magic, Luskan will not hesitate to use him, eventually. And more than likely, knowing the elf's knowledge of Neverwinter and of your spying methods in particular, they will most certainly use him against us."

Vale sighed. "I'm afraid, Nasher, that inaction isn't an option. I cannot advise you beyond that; but something must be done."

A cold, steely look entered Nasher's eyes. "Perhaps then, Vale, the question should be: can we win the upcoming war without the elf? Because if we can and our goal is to merely prevent Luskan from having such a powerful wizard at their disposal, the safer option would be to... neutralize him as quickly and as quietly as possible." He was glad the door was closed and the halls quiet at this time of day. If the people on the streets below only knew what it took to keep their simple lives simple and free... "Would that be possible? Would Luskan suspect his death at all?"

Vale felt his blood chill quietly in his veins as he regarded Nasher. He had lived amongst humans for longer than he could count; specifically he had adventured with Nasher for many years before the human had returned to Neverwinter to take up the mantle of leadership, and Vale had stayed, content to serve in the Cloaktower, to train young mages and aide his friend. And yet...

There were times when even his blunted elven sensibilities recoiled at the things humans were willing to do to one another. _And do to elves, as well._

He opened his mouth, a carefully formed reply waiting on his tongue, when there was a timid, uncertain knock on the door.

Nasher exhaled exasperatedly. It seemed as though coming to his door was becoming as common as going to the local tavern. He gave Vale a hard look - _say nothing of what we were discussing!_ "Come in!" he barked.

A halfling spy opened the door and peeked in. "My Lord Nasher!" he bowed so low that his hood fell over his head. "Most pressing! Most urgent news, sire! Utmost chaos in Luskan!"

Nasher stood quickly. Had Gend gone against his orders and tried to retrieve the elf himself? _By the gods, if that spy..._

The halfling was still speaking. "The Arcane Brotherhood is in an uproar! One of their newest members, a girl by the name of Nivarra, was found dead in her mansion and they suspect that the wizard Sand did it! But they can't find him; the whole city is in lockdown again. I think the elf has escape Luskan, my Lord!" He was wringing his cloak in his hands. "I barely made it out, had to teleport myself to get here quickly. If the elf is making his way back here, he will no doubt have a bounty on his head along with the one for Torio Claven. They'll be wanting him for low justice! It'll be like Ember again!"

Nasher glanced at Vale. "Find the elf, bring him here. His capture and servitude are suspect enough that I think Sydney Natale will be hard pressed to push for low justice."

Vale glanced at the halfling, and swallowed what he was about to say. "Yes, my lord," he said evenly, and turned, sweeping past the halfling and out into the hall, striding determinedly down the hall towards the tower.

Vale's acolytes jumped as he entered. "There's been news," he said shortly. "We're adding the wizard, Sand the elf, to our scrying spells. I want someone awake, watching, at all times; as soon you find anything, _anything_, I want to be informed."

And he turned, making his way up towards the top of the tower to his quarters, with the sound of his acolytes incanting fading behind him.


	42. Chapter 42

**Volume 3, Chapter 42: An Indecent Proposal**

Torio sighed inaudibly as she felt Sand's mouth press against hers, his lips supple and pliant and almost tentative; something inside of her that had previously been coiled painfully tight suddenly released, and for a moment the heartache and pain, the risks she had taken and the too-close calls to death, torture, and never-ending infernal agony stopped bearing down on her. This was the reason, _this_, that she had gone through all of it, to kiss him again, feel his cool, smooth hands on her face...they were _alive_, and they had, for the moment, escaped.

Hardly daring to breath, she crawled up onto the bed proper, sliding forward onto his lap; her arms slid around his neck, her legs around his waist, her body around his. She wrapped herself around him in his entirety, pressing him against her, feeling that he was there, real, alive...

"An entire day alone," she breathed out. "I certainly think we need it, do you not?" There were plenty of unsaid things patiently waiting in line for their turn to be spoken aloud, and some of them could damn well wait for a little while longer; she pressed her forehead against his, tracing the faint, unfamiliar lines that carved new shadows around his beautiful eyes with the tips of her fingers. "I've missed you too, _bodaes_. I've been...you would not believe where I've been."

As she shifted on the bed, the slithering silver chain that had bound her so completely and yet had sat so delicately around her wrist slipped off the edge of the bed and landed softly on the floor with hardly a sound.

Sand wrapped himself completely around Torio, squeezing out the space and air between them until he felt her hot skin through the fabric of her servant's clothes. Her tears had left tracks down her dirt-stained cheeks and he realized just how beaten up and dirty they both were. She was still covered in barely dried blood and if he hadn't just nearly been killed, he might fuss a bit at the stains on his sheets.

Still...

The need to feel her, skin to skin, was there. He loosened his grip on her slightly and began pulling off the ruined velvet robes. "We'll have all day tomorrow to speak, dear girl. For now..." He shrugged off the robe and began tugging on her flimsy dress. "I think we're both exhausted. Let's...let's have a normal night, for once. Nowhere you need to sneak off to tomorrow morning, no one to hide from. Just you and me."

For a moment, Torio was reminded rather sharply of all those times that Sand had been dragged off on some mission with Meaghan Farlong; how the days had sometimes stretched to past a week, how she had practically worn a long furrow in the Library some nights with her pacing, how she would rush to her room when the announcement came that the adventurers could be seen returning up the road so she could peer out of her window...the rush of relief at seeing the dark-haired head of a certain wizard slogging up the road and the impatience that plagued her as she would sit, waiting...

There had been one "glorious" return when they had run into one of their own Greycloak patrols being attacked by no less than five trolls at once; they had lost two of the men and had barely survived themselves. Sand had seemed strangely shaken...they all had, when Torio had encountered them later the next day, their glorious quests as light against the darkness almost utterly destroyed because the trolls from the Mere were starving. Sand had, when she opened her door to him that night, had merely crumpled her into a fierce embrace, and muttered, "Later," in her ear when she opened her mouth to speak. And they hadn't said anything...well anything coherent...for a long time after that.

There was the same desperation in his voice; not a small hint, but full-blown, mingling with the odd sort of determination in his eyes as he shrugged the robe off of his shoulders. She could feel the heat spreading throughout her own skin as she wordlessly pulled the silk undertunic he wore from the waistband of the slim trousers tied at his waist, not even stopping to bother with loosening the ties; after a slight tug of resistance, the fabric was up and over his head, and she dropped it behind her, off of the edge of the bed and on the floor.

Her eyes slid over his skin as she untied the string behind her neck that held the simple, roughspun dress closed; she took in the small scars along his arms once more, misfired spells or accidents at the alchemical bench that left marks healing couldn't remove. He was thinner, a faded, greenish welt still visible under the skin of his stomach from where the Nightbringer had run him through, and she felt a momentary flash of anger as the strings of her dress came apart and she pulled it forwards, down off of her shoulders and down her arms; she was practically burning to feel his body against hers, and yet she paused for a moment, as bare chested as he, taking in the sight of him as if she had never seen him before.

Torio was gazing at him in a foreign manner, her eyes bright in the darkness of his room as they traveled from his hands, up his arms across his torso. He didn't need to look but he knew Luskan had left their indelible marks on him: Hipshari's whip, Yune's cane, _both_ his shoulders and now his abdomen.

His eyes dropped down to study Torio's naked torso. She was unscarred as he had left her after the first _Wish_ spell. But now she was leaner; her curves had a harder edge to them he hadn't seen before, her arms flexed with an easy muscularity, her legs looked defined and strong. She was no longer the powdered, perfumed ambassador who would take a carriage around the block, was she? She was carrying herself with the poise and grace of one who was used to long physical days, of battles and toil...

"My warrior princess." He chuckled at the absurdity of it and then pushed her down to the bed, curling up beside her, his hands feeling every inch of her skin, re-familiarizing himself with Torio, pushing away all thought of the _other _Luskan woman, until it was just Torio, Torio, Torio. He brushed some stray hair from her cheek, letting the back of his fingers caress her skin and said hardly above a whisper, "Amin mela lle."

The bed gave slightly under their bodies, the blankets soft under her skin as she shivered, her eyes closing blissfully as his hand began tracing her skin. His words slipped past her ear, as volatile as the most intimate of touches, and she exhaled raggedly, all of her multiple languages abandoning her for a moment. "I love you," she whispered, her entire body wracked with heat and cold and fear and joy simultaneously; her heart was thumping, loud...but steady. Sweet gods, but wasn't it true...she had never said such a thing to anybody, not in all of her years of life. No whips, no truth serum, no chaotic battles or deadly avatars...just a pair of piercing eyes that shot right through her, made her unutterably weak and undeniably strong.

She traced his chest and abdomen with her fingers, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck; her mouth lingered, breathing against the skin, feeling the heat of his nearness rise up and caress her face. Her fingers began untying his trews, easily, with an unhurried patience, stroking his skin, memorizing the feel of his waist under her hands as she pressed her hands against the concavity that ran between them and down to where he stirred beneath her touch. She gripped his body gently, but firmly, sliding the fabric off of his hips, feeling the cool run of skin against her palms.

"Consider marrying you someday, you said," she whispered, her voice pressing softly against his neck as she kissed it. "Eisi o mesi o ceri cyrn shar o'vi kaerol osaer ailai?" _ Are you quite sure you know what you're getting yourself into?_

Her words - _I love you _- consumed him, sat on his mind, countenance and soul and he understood that he would never love another. He had fallen in love with a human, in times of war, with both their lives expendable, at risk and heartbreakingly short, and he knew he would never love another woman the way he loved her.

Sand wiggled closer to her so that the entire length of their bodies was pressed together: face, chest, stomach, legs, toes. She fit against him so snugly, like a lock and key, that he was amazed that he had ever doubted anything about her. That he had ever even thought there could be anyone else for him but her. Funny the way life had turned out - he still remembered clearly telling Meaghan during the trial how he relished seeing Luskan lose face and possibly Torio losing her head. Now the mere thought of harm sent waves of panic through him; it made him ridiculously valiant in a way that even the paladin would likely approve. He knew he would fight the entirety of Faerun for the pretty head lying beside him on the pillow.

"Amin caern shar Amin shar kaerol ailai si toleri lle myrdaer iar eir si Caer." _I knew what I was getting into the minute you showed up at the Keep. _He lifted her chin so he could kiss her lips and see her eyes. By the gods, it was true. At the time, convincing Kana and Meaghan to bring her to the Keep was half his idea; he had wanted to gloat and to goad her, to remind her of his courtroom victory but underneath it all was a strange anticipation and excitement he denied for months on end, settling instead on a comfortable routine of calling her names and making fun of her clothes. But he had been positively eager to talk to her again.

"If you marry me, dear girl, you won't regret it. You'll never have to do a minute of housework or laundry; there are spells for those! And I've already given you a lifetime guarantee, haven't I?" Suddenly he smirked and couldn't keep the laughter out of this voice. "Imagine the scandal! Imagine what Nevalle would say!"

As laughable as the entire idea was...she could actually picture it.

His voice was suddenly laced with such lighthearted laughter that she couldn't stop the answering smile that curled her mouth. "You really do take inordinate pleasure in making Sir Nevalle miserable, don't you?" She stretched against him, studying his face; she could feel the faint thud of his heartbeat against her chest, they were lying pressed so close together, his eyes square with hers, matching her inch for inch, their toes brushing against each other at the end of the bed.

"Now, _bodaes_," she whispered, her eyes flickering over his features, mere inches from hers, her arms pulling snugly against his waist, "You wouldn't be offering a poor woman matrimonial bliss simply to gouge another point against Nasher's right hand, are you? I'd hate to be wedded simply for the sake of irritation." Her voice was teasing, but she found herself trembling slightly at the idea; married. _Married_. Her? To _Sand_?

There would be rioting in the streets, if word got out. _And never ending laughter at the situation behind the walls of their respective bedrooms._

And she could actually picture it. Maybe it was being inside of Sand's house; not just a room handed to him as a place for him to sleep inside a huge Keep that housed hundreds of people, but his...everything in there was somehow deemed important enough for him to keep in the one space that truly belonged to him.

And he had brought her in here.

Sand rolled on top of her, still pressing the entire length of his body against hers, except now his aroused organ was slipped between her thighs. "Don't be daft, dear girl. I'd marry you because I love you." He flushed slightly at the sheer gravity of the phrase and hurriedly joked, "But I'd invite Sir Nevalle to the wedding to irritate him. The poor man wouldn't know what to do; probably have to find himself a third spy to follow us along now. But what I wouldn't give to see the look on his face! Two ends met with one action!" How easily the words came to his lips now and he was nearly giddy from it. "My my, our marriage could be the peace treaty that finally links Luskan and Neverwinter, Helkaer."

He nuzzled her, kissing her throat . "Changing your mind, dear girl? What was it you had said earlier on Abelor's ship? That followers of Deneir had more intelligent mettle than to get married?"

Her face colored deeply. "I claim mental duress at the time, you viper." She wriggled against him, letting out a satisfied sigh at the way he inched between her thighs, the way the muscles of his lower abdomen tensed slightly as he moved against her. She arched her head back against the pillow, her toes curling slightly as his mouth brushed across the sensitive skin of her throat. "Deneir encourages growth, and obtaining knowledge, and..." Her skin prickled in delighted goosebumps as the lightly trail of moisture his mouth left against her neck cooled slowly. "...gods...perhaps I'll claim mental duress now, due to the intensely close proximity of a naked moon elf." Yes, she could see that going over well with Nasher. _I found myself in a state of matrimony with Sand, my lord, because he pinned me naked to the bed until I agreed to marry him._

She lifted her hips lightly, bending her knees around his waist so that he sank between her legs, his weight pressing down against the heated center of her body. "I think, considering our status at the moment with both Luskan and Neverwinter, the peace treaty would be short lived."

Sand began slowly rocking his hips back and forth, not yet inside her but just happy to feel her legs around him and the growing wetness between her thighs. "What, dear girl, you don't think I could claim insanity? Some will certainly think me insane for marrying my arch nemesis, the infamous Torio Claven." He kissed back up her throat and chin before pausing, his intelligent eyes glittering as he looked at her, shrewd. "You claim duress, I'll claim insanity - and then we'll leave for our honeymoon. I hear Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate are nice at this time of the year."

The hand that wasn't clutching her to him desperately found her round breasts and began toying with the erect nipple. He sighed dramatically and then rested his head on her shoulder. "Well, I certainly hope our marriage will last longer than the peace accord between our two nations." He laughed again at the thought. "I could tell Kana you need to move into my room so I can keep a better eye on you."

Torio inhaled quickly, sharply, eyes-half closing as a low rolling tremor of sheer pleasure shivered through her skin; she arched her back slightly, pressing her body upwards into his hand, against his taunting fingers, trying to feel them press down against her flesh. "Oh, I could certainly attest that you have already quite completely lost your mind," she said somewhat hoarsely, her breath coming in raggedly controlled inhales; his face was cast half-in shadow in the darkness around them, and almost as an afterthought, with a sly smile, she reached around his neck, pulling his face close for a kiss as her fingers undid the leather thong in his hair and flung it away from them.

His long, slow motions between her legs were building her up with such a latent, practiced meticulousness; she let her fingers wander down from his hair, pulling silky strands through them as she slid them around the tips of his ears and drew them downwards, rubbing the delicate curved edges as she looked up into his eyes. "You would blow poor Kana's head apart, I daresay, with such a suggestion...the woman can't even abide me sharing a keep with all of the gloriously admired heroes, much less a room." She groaned softly, shutting her eyes, her eyebrows drawing together momentarily as she reached up, pressing his fingers flat against her breast, feeling his fingertips dig firmly down into her skin. "You could say," she breathed out, "that you are using me for experimental potion testing, and that we must not be disturbed at all costs. Nevalle might very well bite into that one, due to the last potion episode we had." She laughed brightly for a moment, suddenly, clear and sharp, her body thrumming with building pleasure...and then she looked up at him, her eyes suddenly serious.

"So you want to marry me, do you?"

Sand continued to rub his body between her legs, "Dear girl, the only potions I intend on testing on you are the pink ones..." He pressed the side of his head into her hands, letting the sensation of her fingers wash over and through him blissfully until he heard her laughing, joking tone take a sharp intense turn.

Sand propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at her, stopping his movements. He said honestly, without any sarcasm or mockery, "Yes, Torio Claven, I want to marry you. I would be honored, if one day, you would consent to be my wife." He sealed his words with a kiss, pressing his lips to hers with a gentle firmness. When he broke free, he added with his usual voice, "At your leisure, of course, Counselor." For a split second, all the tired lines of his face faded as he stared at her, looking three decades old if he wasn't three hundred.

Would a marriage change anything between them? They would still have to keep their relationship a secret, they would still be living apart, still have to pretend to share a mutual dislike. He would only have the hidden knowledge that Torio belonged to him and he to her, that all the days of pretending to be husband and wife were finally now real and they would instead have to pretend to be enemies. Nothing would be as it should until this whole business with the King of Shadows finished, and they could flee the north or slip into lives of anonymity. If this whole war would ever finish.

He frowned slightly. And if he died on one of these foolhardy ventures; would it be fair to leave her a war widow, even a secret one? He had already left her everything else in his will. But they both knew the risks and he had made his decision.

Torio watched a plethora of emotions travel across Sand's face; the light from the streets outside the windows was cool and pale white, flickering dimly as the branches of trees being blown in the sea breeze leaned back and forth across them, casting long, flickering shadows through the dark room. They danced over Sand's features, mixing with the torrent that already moved beneath his eyes, and underneath all of the conflict she saw what she had seen earlier... a raw, settled determination.

She knew Sand was anything but intractable; he was not so mule-headed as to blindly follow the same course he was on if it looked to start turning into the wrong one. And if they survived the coming war, if they both lived through the danger and came out unscathed on the other side...well, it would be very easy to look upon a quickly aging human wife throughout the coming years, death inevitably stealing up on her, and decide that the course of action he had taken was too difficult to follow. She'd seen it happen a few times, and heard of it more often than not; once a human started becoming old, sick, frail, dying...their elven counterpart left, in grief and pain, unable to watch and bear the sight of their loved one in such a state. Elves never seemed to be able to deal with such things well, in her experience; age did not wreak such havoc on them as it did on humans.

_But Sand is not like other elves._ And she knew, from the way he sometimes held himself apart from the others, his mannerisms and his preferences...and his willingness to remove enchantments from her bracelet at a great risk to himself in exchange for the mere pleasure of her company...she knew that he must have been alone, been used to being alone, for a long, long time.

The thought, illogically, made her heart ache.

The sheer volume of emotion and fear and growing arousal.._._it was getting rather difficult to think straight, with Sand pressed so snugly between her legs, so tantalizingly close, the heat pulsating between them from his previous movements against her body_..._it all made her voice hushed, strained, as if she were afraid if she spoke to loud, the elf lying on top of her would start like a frightened rabbit and run from her in terror. "And what happens when my hair turns whiter than hoarfrost," she whispered quietly, still watching his face, "and I need to lean on those many magical staves you possess, _bodaes_, just to stand straight?" Her voice lightened slightly. "Barring that I doubt I'll even live that long, but still..." Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. "I don't have long stretches of centuries left in me, _a'mael, _like you do. You would still choose to marry me?"

He smiled down at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly and his expression bittersweet. "Bhen arta amin tharear ranqui... Firimar, kelia, leha nae amin lani aul aelosaeria." _Human on my faithless arm...Mortal, guilty, but to me beautiful in entirety_. Her favorite poem. "I promised you a lifetime, did I not? Does my word to you mean so little, my dear Luskan, that you doubt me? You think my love for you could be easily swayed by the color of your hair? In case you haven't noticed, Torio, you spend more time polymorphed around me than in your own skin."

He kissed her forehead. "Don't deny me what few years we'll have together." How many years those "few" turned out to be, he didn't care. He'd rather have them than not; the loneliness he had experienced for years and years before now seemed unbearable after the near constant companionship he had had these past few months with Torio. He honestly didn't know what he would do when her human time on Toril was over; throw himself into his work? Leave for Evermeet? Scour the Planes for her soul?

_You could do that Sand. You have the power to._

They both were so still in the night on the bed that they may have well both been statues. He bent his head down again, searching out her lips with his mouth and letting his hair fall as a curtain around their faces, cutting themselves out even further from the outside world. He could almost picture what she had described, a bent, wizened old woman standing next to him, sharing a bed with him while he remained ever unchanging. "And how do I know, Helkaer, that you won't eventually loathe me for my Elven blood, acting as an ever constant reminder of how things were?"

This time, Torio did laugh, her voice muffled in the closed confines of their faces as he kissed her, his hair spilling over her face and brushing her cheeks like fine silk. "I've already loathed you for many other things," she said, sliding her arms firmly around his shoulders; he even kissed her with a marked precision, his lips cool, the sharp words that they normally framed smothered under the tenderness with which he pressed them against her skin. "And there are many things that I could pick out about you, wizard, that still drive me absolutely insane. To be honest, your insurmountable arrogance and near-perfect, unchanging, moon elven attractiveness..." here, her voice was teasing, "...will more than likely just be one more of those things."

She reached around with her fingers, brushing a few strands of his long hair back from his face. "But loathing you was a weak, crumbling wall that stood in the way of loving you, and it fell rather quickly against your onslaught, Counselor." A finger traced the high, arched brows, the straight, proud nose, the lean, firm lips...her touch traced along his jawline, smooth and hairless, remembering the brief time he had sported human stubble, and the way she had stood over him, shaving it off, their naked bodies inches from each other... "I am beyond merely fortunate, Sand. So close to death, so many ways my life could have gone, and yet instead I have you..." She cupped his face in her hands, realizing it was true...a woman like her, a _person _like her, really did deserve to die for what she had done in her life, and even the strange twists and changes of heart she had had in the past few months couldn't make up for the years behind her. And yet, here he was, wanting to marry _her_... "If you end up being an ever constant reminder of the way things were, _bodaes_, I would welcome it." She arched a brow at him slightly, and lifted her legs around him, wrapping them snugly around his waist. "Who would not want to remember this?"

Her heart gave one loud, nervous flutter against her ribs as she suddenly asked lightly, "And where, exactly, would we get married?"

Sand lifted his hips slightly, angling himself so that he could slide himself slowly into her, not able to resist the building longing any longer. He whimpered and then sighed audibly. She hugged his shaft every inch of the way and it was all he could do not to climax instantly. It seemed as though it had been eons since he had last been with her and in one simple motion, all the pain and fears of the past few weeks disappeared and all he could do was look forward to the future. He held himself steady, breathing heavily, as he waited for his thudding heart to slow.

"I know! We'll get the Reverend Oleff Uskar to marry us!" He laughed again. "I think, dear girl, if the man ever saw the two of us together, he would run for Icewind Dale." He withdrew and then pushed inside once, groaning loudly. "And you know - I'd like to apologize for what I said about your clothes at the Trial. A bit of a low blow there, dear girl, but I had to get back at you for bringing up my past in Luskan."

Torio's body spasmed slightly as he pushed himself inside, her hips lifting slightly to meet his eagerly...gods, it had been so long, she had missed his touch to the point of frenzy... and she let out a low, ragged breath. "Oh, Sand..." Every inch of him pushed insistently inside of her, his thickened, hard shaft impaled deeply into her flesh, causing the muscles along her walls to tighten uncontrollably around him. His laughter shot through her, and she wriggled against him, unable to keep the humor out of her voice. "You, apologizing, Sand? I'm sure you could make it up to me somehow; you seemed to stop complaining about my clothing some months ago, if I recall correctly..."

His face suddenly seemed smoothed over, eased of the troubling shadows that had settled on his features, and she felt his body shaking slightly, his muscles tensed even as his voice teased and cajoled. He was thrusting into her again, and she bit her lip, her eyes squeezing shut against the sharp stab of pleasure that wracked up through her body. "Oh _gods_...Oleff...would toss us both into prison, or set us both on trial...or simply throw us into the arena for a trial by combat against Nevalle..." Her mouth found his lips, his eyes, his nose, his neck, his ears...She placed a constant string of kisses against his face, exhaling hoarsely in a whimper as he pushed inside of her. "Oh please...Sand, _yes_..."

"How can I complain about your clothes when you now spend so much time out of them?" Sand laughed again; it seemed as though all the joy that had been suppressed by Luskan was suddenly spilling forth from his throat and he couldn't hold back the rushing stream of happiness. It was a pure, unadulterated exaltation at being back with her, by her side...

_…inside..._

He returned her flurry of kisses with whirlwind of his own, not leaving a fraction of her face untouched. It was a new moon outside so he could only see her by the light of the stars and the city, and as half hidden by the shadow of his body as she was, she looked radiant. Her pupils were wide and black, concealing much of her grey iris, her mouth so soft and yielding he would have had a hard time believing she was ever capable of sharp words.

He began moving in and out of her very slowly, letting himself savor every millimetre of her body, breathing deep and steady. "And you know, dear girl, that Nevalle would simply throw the Knight Captains at us in his stead at a Trial by Combat. He's awfully good at doing that. But enough talk of Nevalle; I don't want to be thinking of Sir Knight while I'm...getting reacquainted with you."

Sand had never felt as hard or as aroused as he did at this moment; Torio herself was well whetted but this time the coupling between then was different. The lust and the desires were all there but coursing through and between them was a soft, electric buzz he had never felt before; it made his skin and mind alive in ways that was beyond magical. "Oh gods, girl..."

His hips were rocking slowly against hers, moving in and out of her with such practiced, relishing slowness that she pressed her back against the bed, languidly lifting her hips up at the last crucial moment so that their hips fused solidly together before he drew out again. She unwound her legs from his waist and slid them down the bed, sliding them against his, feeling smooth skin brushing against smooth skin. Little shivers of pleasure shot up the insides of her thighs, and she slipped her arms under his shoulders and around his back, feeling his body press down against hers. The bed hardly made any sound, creaking only softly at their movements; their heavy, full breathing was the loudest noise in the room, and Torio's breath came out shuddering and slow, feeling the peaks of her breasts press lightly against his chest with every ragged inhale as their hips met and slid apart.

"So Oleff is out," she said hoarsely. "Unless we can convince him not to speak of it to anyone. You could always magic us to some foreign city, I suppose, where..._oh_...where no one has heard of us...just a slightly eccentric and caustic elven mage wanting to marry his human lover..." _His_ lover...the thought made her body pull away from the mattress, arching against him, feeling her hot skin press against his cool body. His...she was finally his again, and he was hers, and he was looking down at her in a way that made her blood ignite in her veins like liquid fire...

She was reminded of that first night in the Library when he had had her stretched beneath him on the table, candlelight dancing across his face as his eyes took her in beneath him, and she had felt a small twinge of it then, refused to recognize it, had chosen to ignore it. No one looked at her the way Sand did; most who knew of her looked at her with disdain, loathing, irritation...sometimes she caught admiration, respect, fear, but never...never what always lurked at the back of Sand's eyes when they caught hers.

"Amin cael n' tene lirit en' kesir aul an commae," she breathed out, her mouth twitching in a sly smile. _I haven't heard elven poetry in a long while._

Sand paused, furrowing his brow in thought. Did he know any other poem other than the first one he had recited for her? He smiled ruefully at Torio, "I could recite to you a good portion of the Magical Codex...?" He sat up and slid from the bed, "Don't move and...hold that thought." Turning, he bolted down the stairs to his shop, nearly tripping and falling down the narrow flight in his rush.

He ran to the bookshelf along the wall, painfully aware that if anybody chose to look in his window right now they would see a very naked and very erect merchant elf. He ran a long, slender finger along the spines of the books he had there until he found the very slim, very battered edition of _The Elven Lord's Poetry Collection_. He thumbed through the pages, his blue eyes darting back and forth rapidly over the elegant script until...

"Ah ha!"

He ran back up the stairs, clutching the book triumphantly. Torio was still lying on her back, her legs slightly spread and an amused expression on her face. What he would give to see her like that every night...naked, arouse and delighted. He leaped back into the bed, landing lightly between her thighs and slowly pushed himself back inside her moist furrow. "Now...where was I?"

Torio laughed. "Exactly in the right spot." She wriggled against him, slightly, her legs parting and her smile widening as she saw the slim tome held in one of his hands. "Your grand collection of poems, _bodaes_?" She pulled his face down towards hers for a moment, kissing him thoroughly, laughter still bubbling in her throat at the remembered sight of Sand's lissome, lithe backside disappearing ungracefully down the stairs at a rapid rate.

"You might as well keep it by the bed from now on," she murmured silkily against his mouth. "I have a premonition that it's going to be well used in the coming days." She pulled back, stretched her arms, and folded them neatly behind her head, one eyebrow cocked up at him expectantly, her mouth quirked in a suppressed smile.

Sand propped the book on the pillow beside her head, creasing the spine so that it held itself open. Reading her poetry now seemed much less embarrassing and silly than it did all those months ago; now he knew it was a way for each of them to let the other know what they were thinking without having to come out and say it. His eyes moved between the lines of text and back to her face as he recited softly,

"Amin sharaer lle shael si thai shar eir os modi  
Vaedia sai moji eir cos, os lle eil amin  
Shaesi maraeria cydaelaer varaes sal polodi  
Eil shor oli jhylaer, mali jhyli eil jhordaesia."

_I watched thee when the foe was at our side__  
__Ready to strike at him, or thee and me__  
__Were safety hopeless rather than divide__  
__Aught with one loved, save love and liberty._

Sand remembered the moment when Drakken's man had stabbed her on the ship; remember the panic and fear that had lanced through him more painfully than any sword or spell could have. He could have lost her then. He knew she was probably still irritated at him for having spelled her away - but he had made his choice. At that very moment, he would have preferred dying with the knowledge that she was safe and alive than surviving another day at the risk of her life.

"Amin sharaer lle shael si thaelaes kajaer lle aer  
Olol amin tys, eil maeraer amin ol si kyl  
Shael olaesys shor sharol, bi'aes sai vori  
hys saeli, ais lle eil aesia kali car thyl."

_I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes__  
__Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground__  
__When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise__  
__From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found._

The most helpless moment of his life had been fleeing from Gweynn's tower, holding Torio in his arms. They had both been so broken, bleeding and he knew the poison was seeping through her blood and organs. For all his known spells, there was nothing he could have done at that moment to save her. They had escaped, using their wits and skill, and yet it seemed like he was still going to lose her...

"Eil shael tyleloli syr paelor tia shaer  
Si thalaer iaraesali sai tia thadol syl  
Sai lle, sai lle, aelael ail si kar os paer  
Tia mosor sesaer. Ai! oraelaes sal air ol."

_And when convulsive throes denied my breath__  
__The faintest utterance to my fading thought__  
__To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death__  
__My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought._

And all those days as a slave in Luskan. How often had his thoughts and memories turned to Torio? How often had things reminded him of the girl, no matter how dark or desperate his situation? The first few days of loneliness there, his mantra had been that Torio was gone but safe and it helped him drag his empty, frightened self through the motions of survival.

"Ser tes eil tysi, eil or lle mela amin byr  
Eil baelaes shor, Mela paer byr ail amin shor  
Bys tal Amin shasti, syl air shi amin jhyr  
Sai mylia, shylia, balia, mela lle mor."

_Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,__  
__And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will__  
__Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot__  
__To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still._

And even she wouldn't marry him, even if she found him too particular, sharp tongued, cowardly, caustic, competitive -even if the gods deemed them both unworthy of love and companionship, he would continue to love her anyway until the day he died.

Torio half-shut her eyes after the first few lines, her entire body stilled. She had never quite figured out before now where her strange taste for poetry had come from...and elven poetry, nonetheless, with its multi-layered meanings and inability to ever make a straightforward point in its stanzas. But she watched Sand's lips move above her face, his intense blue eyes moving back and forth between her and the pages, her skin, her blood, her very bones prickling with the depth and gravity of the words...

They had nearly died, both of them tossed into more chaos and danger than they might have been able to survive, if not for that persistent itch...the thought that the other one was out there, somewhere. She might have merely given up in Elysium, succumbed to forgetfulness, never returned to Toril, and Sand...

There was no doubt in her mind what Sand would eventually have been.

And it had taken all of that for Torio to be able to admit out loud what every fibre of her body already knew. For an articulate woman who depended on the readiness of her tongue, she fell immeasurably short of being capable of describing what was thrumming through her very being whenever Sand merely looked at her.

She pushed Sand over, flipping their positions around, feeling his member shift and slide and settle inside of her once again. She pressed her hands into the mattress on either side of his head, staring down into his face; she could feel the soft, feather edges of his hair as it spilled out over the pillow and touched her fingers where they lay. "'Lle mela amin byr?'" _'Thou lov'st me not?' _ Her voice was light, teasingly scolding as she bent to kiss his neck, her hips gently moving against him. "Oh Sand...I think you know better than that."

Sand held her face to him, making quiet happy noises. At this rate, they were not going to get to sleep until the dawn. "Torio, dear girl, I've barely gotten used to the idea that you've stopped trying to kill me. Love...it seems so..." He exhaled, his eyes bright with wonderment. "...well so unlikely. For people like us, anyway." He lifted his hips slightly to meet her tender motions, the throbbing inside of him crescendoing patiently. "So I've read you some of the poetry you love so dearly. What do I get in return?"

Torio chuckled against the side of his neck, tilting her head up to nip the edge of his ear lightly. "As dangerous as this could possibly turn out to be," she murmured, "I'm in an incredibly gracious mood this eve." She kept up her slow, lazy movements, the heat, the tightening of the muscles between her legs growing steadily, coiled tightly like a serpent, waiting... "So I can honestly say that I'm quite willing to do whatever you want me to. But keep in mind, I'm rather limited in my spell casting capacities...I'm afraid I'll have to do everything manually." Her tongue flicked out, tracing the lobeless shell of his ear as her lips closed around it, suckling on it firmly.

Sand hadn't felt gentle lips around his ears in so long. Nivarra had the nasty habit of biting or pinching; he could hear, in the darkness, Torio's mouth sucking on the sensitive flesh. "Oh my gods...that'll...be more...than adequate... Manual is goooood..." She was draining all conscious control of his muscles from him and he felt himself writhing and twitching beneath her helplessly, his fingers scrabbling at the skin of her back. He managed to get some voluntary control back and began thrusting eagerly into her, feeling his shaft tighten even further. "Leave the spellcasting to me, dear girl." He rolled them over, once, twice, until they were near the edge of the bed. His fingers began groping at the small nightstand, blindly rummaging through the drawers, knocking vials around, pushing scrolls aside until he found a bedraggled, sad looking feather. He reached down, wrapping her legs securely around him, letting the feather touch her skin liberally and with a mischievous light in his eyes, cast Mass Fly.


	43. Chapter 43

**Volume 3, Chapter 43: Baubles**

Torio let out an undignified squeak as they flew up from the mattress; her legs tightened around Sand instinctively, and then the squeak turned into a moan as the act pulled Sand's thrusting shaft harder into her body. She felt as if the air around them was strangely viscous, able to be pushed and pulled around her like water; Sand's hair was fanning out behind him in the air, his eyes glimmering triumphantly up at her, the bed many feet below them and the ceiling a few feet closer than it was before above them.

She carefully unwound her legs from Sand's body and lifted her hips from his, gritting her teeth against the spiraling knots of pleasure that tightened low in her stomach at the simple act of lifting herself away from him. She pushed back from him, feeling herself float through the air, her own hair rustling in front of her eyes as if toyed with a gentle breeze.

"Aren't husbands supposed to maintain a firm grip of their prospective wives?" She hardly recognized her own voice; it was playful, light, an edge of laughter to it, all of her careful and customary control gone out of it. She floated in the air a few inches from Sand, placing her hands on her hips and eyeing him slyly...his body was stretched out in the air, lean and pale, the angles of every muscle etched beneath his white skin like porcelain; her eyes followed the narrowing at his waist to where his erect manhood still thrust upwards, and she found her lips had parted involuntarily.

She cleared her throat distractedly. "I'm assuming this spell isn't going to last forever..." she couldn't stop the wicked grin that spread her lips, "...so as it stands, I shall suggest that you try to catch me quickly."

And she turned in midair, making a flying beeline for the stairs.

Sand gaped for a moment, watching her spin in the air with a surprising fluidity. He gazed at her soft, white bottom flashing up at him before she disappeared around the corner and down the stairs. He heard her laughter drifting up to him from the main floor of the shop and he flew after her.

His store looked decidedly different from this vantage point; the top of the shelves and bookcases were quite dusty. Torio was drifting near the ceiling in the middle of his shop and Sand began circling her. He pretended to lunge for her and then stopped short, watching the way she recoiled slightly and then maintained her position. "And if I catch you, dear girl?"

Torio smiled languidly at Sand as she stretched out over the air, resting her chin in her hand as if she were reclining on a delectable furred rug instead of nothing whatsoever. "You presume that you'll even catch me," she tsked at him, her eyes watching his circling, naked body with amused wariness. "I must say, _bodaes_, I rather like this view of you..." His long, delicious hair swirled around his face in a dark cloud, wisping against his high cheekbones; his eyes seemed practically glowing in the dim light that shone against his face from off the streets outside, and she felt a sharp, longing pang shoot through her for a moment.

_Focus, Torio!_

"I suppose I can humor you, though." She stretched backwards, eyeing the strange, motionless creation that hulked silently behind the shop's front counter; everywhere around her were jars of spell components, bookshelves, cases of equipment, spellcasting supplies. His shop was bigger than what she had imagined it to be from the way others had sniped about him. _Peddling charms in Neverwinter's slums_...the place was, in all fairness, remotely respectable looking, and for a moment she glanced back at Sand, naked and aroused and floating in the air mere feet from her. _At the moment, though, the shopkeeper was looking anything but respectable. _She began pushing herself backwards through the air subtly, her mouth curling up. "My gracious mood still stands, bodaes...I suppose I could just about give you anything you wanted." Her heart hammered at his earlier words..._Don't deny me what few years we'll have together. _ "Of course...it would depend on how much effort you put into the chase." She attempted to shoot forward, flying beneath him and around to the other end of the room, realizing wryly that there were only so many places she could go in the smallish building.

"Anything I wanted? Really, dear girl? I'll hold you to that." Sand flipped upside down and made a grab at her rapidly escaping body; he managed to grip her legs lightly before her momentum took her away from him and he bounced rather gracelessly off the floor and back into the air. He shot towards her, his arms outstretched, his erection bobbing almost comically in the air and she scooted behind the merchant elemental, peering from around the hulking piece of equipment like a playful cat.

That gave him an idea. He floated back casually until he could open a small chest on a shelf, his fingers quickly selecting something. How often had Jaral hidden behind the wardrobe and would only come when tempted with a piece of fish?

Only he had something better with which to tempt Torio. He didn't think she'd appreciate him waving a fish at her in any case.

He floated slightly below her and held the polished golden ring aloft. It was inlaid with four small rubies and as of yet, it was still unenchanted. He called out softly to her, "C'mere, girl. I have something for you." He fought to keep the laughter out of his voice as he motioned for her to come forward.

Torio snorted at him disdainfully. "That's not going to work." Was that a ring? She could see the dim light flashing off a gleam of gold, but from where she hunched behind the elemental it was merely an indeterminable shining object in Sand's hand that looked suspiciously like a ring. _Mayhaps your mind is making you think you see a ring._ Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him musingly.

It was obviously a ruse.

_A rather romantic one, though._

Since when did you care about romance? He's trying to trick you!

_Not romance per se, but it _is _somewhat clever..._

Ha!

_...and you _do _care about cleverness, and...well, look at him! _

Her eyes obeyed, flicking over his naked body, his relaxed, confident pose, the gleam of gold between his fingers, his startling, cunning eyes narrowed as he watched her..._All right. Point taken._

"You could be holding up anything," she cajoled from behind the elemental...how long had they been down here? She glanced at the floor quite a few feet beneath her, and then back at the elf on the other side of the room...slowly, she moved out from behind the hulking creature in front of her, keeping her eyes on Sand as she floated slowly towards him. "How do I know this isn't some elaborate plot to ensnare me, bend me to your will?" _Ha! As if he needed a plot, you're wrapped around his finger, his wrist, and half his arm at this point, we don't even plot against him together anymore like we used to_...Ah, it _was _a ring. Gold, and there were sparkles of red amongst the polished, intricately carved surface. "I'll tell you, it won't work, because I'm not even interested in...whatever that bauble is...you'll have to try harder than that..." and she darted forward, a sharp laugh escaping her as her heart thumped indescribably fast, the rush of adrenaline making her head reel as she attempted to snatch the ring from his hand.

As soon as she moved forward, Sand moved forward as well instead of away from her, letting her fingers curl around the gold band as his free arm curled around her waist, holding her naked body close to his as they crashed into each other, midair. "Ah ha! Now you are mine!" Not even caring that he was in the middle of his shop, he wrapped his legs tightly around hers, intertwining himself with her like two snakes. "You'll get more 'baubles' later, dear girl. Right now there's a spell that's running out that I need to take advantage of."

His hands moved down her back and gripped her backside tightly, lifting her up and sliding her body down along his engorged member. "So now I have caught the devious Luskan banshee... What to do with her?"

Torio clutched at him, her arms slipping around his neck. She sighed imperceptibly, pressing her hips forward eagerly against his. "It seems like you have a rather good idea of what to do right at this moment...oh gods..." She could feel her walls stretching as he pushed himself inside of her, their intertwined legs making the space between their bodies impossibly tight and narrow. She wriggled against him, plunging her fingers into his hair, sifting the rippling strands through her fingers. She really was lucky that he had such immaculately delicious hair; the mages she had been exposed to in Luskan were all balled, or tattooed, or in Lorne's case a little bit of both. "I promised you whatever you wanted," she purred in his ear; the ring was still pressed into her palm, the cool metal heating up under the contact with her skin, and she slipped it on a finger..._just to keep it safe for now, wouldn't want to drop it and lose it, oh no, Sand would never forgive you for that... _She began thrusting over him slowly, purposefully. "I suppose I can busy myself here until you decide what that is."

Sand began drifting upstairs towards the bed. When the spell wore off, he'd rather fall to a mattress than a dusty wooden floor. It took all of his concentration to travel slowly through the shop, in a drunken zigzagging line as she began writhing against him. "Yes, you keep busy, girl..." He leaned back in the air slightly, supporting her body on his. They had made it now, through the threshold of his bedroom door and he guided them over his bed, pushing her up against the wall above his headboard. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in and then kissing her flesh furiously as he began pushing into her, hard and fast. "What if we made a trade, Torio? I give you that pretty ring there and you give me your hand in marriage?"

Torio's head slammed back so hard against the wall that it made a dull _thunk! _noise as a sharp gasp tore from her throat, her fingers scraping against the wood behind her. "_Sweet Deneir..._Sand...you've...quite literally got me against a wall..." Her fingers pressed into the back of his head as his mouth closed against her skin, her breath coming in ragged gulps, pushing her hips forward eagerly into his onslaught. "An underhanded persuasive tactic, Counselor. Don't think I do not know what you're doing! It's grossly unfair...you're trying to..." her hips banged back lightly against the wall and immediately riposted forward again after one particularly vehement thrust, "...sway me...using your body to..._oh gods, you feel incredible..." _Her voice was a drawn out, longing moan, her entire body thrumming with a sudden fire, ravenous for his. Her head lolled back against the wall and she clutched at him, feeling the long stretch of their playful lovemaking suddenly begin to build and crest between her legs.

Sand pulled her roughly away from the wall, holding her hips between his fingers and sliding her whole body up and down. There was no friction in the air, no bed or sheets, no tangle of arms and legs, no awkward gravity pulling them down in one direction or another - only the feel of Torio on him. "I must use every advantage I have against you..." He spun them slightly so that they were rolling in the air over the bed; one minute he was on top then she spun over him. They even turned upside down before a fierce thrust from one of them righted their hot, wiggling mass. "Imagine what a honeymoon with me would be like, girl!"

He ran his hands up and down the entire length of her smooth, heated body; panting and heaving himself into her with a wild, desperate abandon. He could feel the way her muscles were spasming; her voice was thick and husky. They turned again and now she was on top and Sand took a brief second to pull back from her and look at her. The city torches gave her breasts a warm, welcoming glow, her short hair was flying and framing her face. The strained lines of her face, the harshness and frigidness had all disappeared - she was hardly recognizable as Ambassador Claven now and was instead simply Torio, her grey eyes dark with desire, her lips parted sensually. "Oh gods..." Sand whimpered and then his whole back arched into her. There was no bed to push down against and they shot towards the ceiling as he spilled his essence into her, crying out raggedly. "Melamin!"

The ceiling slammed into her back, Sand's body writhing against hers, his loud-voiced cry echoing around the small room; for a moment she was suspended, her back bouncing lightly against the wall, the room spread out before her; the bed beneath them, the wardrobe, the desk, the various shelves covered in books and magical items, the windows; Sand's hair floating around their faces, his eyes shut tightly, his face a mask of euphoria...his driving hip thrusts pushed her over the edge, and through the spreading warmth throughout her body she came, grasping at his body as the spun and writhed mid air, his voice shooting straight through her middle. _Beloved_.

"Sand!" Her voice was a choked, sharp whimper as her body bucked almost violently, crying out sharply. "Oh gods! ..._Sand..." _She had never heard her voice like that before; it was no fledgling thing, to be tangled in his arms, responding to the things his body was doing to hers, but as the spell began to fade, and the air around them lost its thickness, its support of their weight, every tangled, tortured, joyous emotion she had been through in the past weeks poured out through her voice, and for a glorious moment she was blissfully lost in the mere sensation of him delving inside of her, as her body clenched and released around him...

And then, quite literally, they fell back to the earth.

The bed broke their fall rather adequately, although the tangled mess that they landed in didn't make things easier. The fall shoved him deep inside of her again as they smacked together, and a strangled half-cry tore from her mouth as her satiated body twitched in response, her voice muffled against his shoulder. They were breathing hard, their skin sticky and rapidly cooling, and even now she could feel the coming suffusion of weariness beginning to creep up on her.

She laughed suddenly, her voice slightly muffled against his shoulders. "I'm really quite beginning to like your house, Sand."

The fall knocked the wind out of him and it took a moment before he could respond. "I'm glad, dear girl. Remember, it's yours if something should happen to..." He smothered the thought quickly with a quick kiss to the nearest part of her body, which happened to be the side of her head. Tonight was to be a happy time.

He chuckled, "That was rather...exciting." His heart was just beginning to slow down slightly; he picked up her hand with the ring and examined it and his heart rate increased again. 4 red gems - red for the blood spilled between them for each other, red for the blood spilled by the enemies who stood between them, red for the blood that had to be spilled still for them to find a peaceful life. And red for the heated passion they shared. His lips quirked in a wry smile. "Do you find it ironic, Torio, that we have rid you of one chaining piece of jewelry tonight and I have offered you another right away?"

Torio's eyebrows flicked upwards in amusement; she held her hand out for a moment, stretching her slim fingers and staring at the four red gems that gazed down at her. "You use rather harsh wording, bodaes," she said lightly. "Ring or no, I'll probably still be found in the same place." _Next to you._ She watched the light dance across the small piece of jewelry that hung on her hand like a bright beacon in the darkness, its polished surfaces catching the dim light more strikingly than anything else in the room. It was true...people had a habit of placing pretty things on her in order to keep her tied to them. Garius had molded her into the svelte, seductive spokeswoman, draped her in revealing gowns and encouraged her to use whatever gifts she had to gain them favor. And Nasher, while arguably not as cruel as Garius (arguably) still pinned her imprisonment on her in the form of something pretty and delicate, disguising his own brand of cruelty under something that looked, to the outer eye, perfectly good and harmless.

But Sand wasn't trying to take anything from her...other than what he already had, which was, of course, practically everything she had to offer. Would it make much of a difference, wearing a ring?

How would she know, unless she hadn't anything at all, first? She realized she had a chance, now, to do nothing at all that she hadn't already contrived to do, for her own reasons and nothing else. With the bracelet gone...oh of course, she would still help the twins, do her best to aide in the war; bracelet or not, they could still decided to kill her. Gend, despite his apparent independence, still bowed to Nasher's will, knowing full well the consequences if he didn't. But she could be free, tied to nothing whatsoever, her will her own, if she wanted. And she would probably still be found exactly where she was right now...

"You went through a lot of trouble," she said quietly, twisting the ring around her finger absently. "Risked your life, even, to free me from the effects of that bracelet." She glanced at him, her mouth twisting slyly. "Although you did fly rather freely with the silk bindings." She gave an involuntary, delighted shiver at the memory of that night. "Perhaps I'll...think about wearing this ring." She was hardly used to telling him that she loved him, although a little voice nagged at the back of her mind; _how much time do you think you really have with him, and you're being as pertinacious as possible... _She shoved the thought away. "I suppose it might tie me to you, but..." she pointed a finger under his nose, her eyes twinkling, "Don't think that you'll escape it either; if I end up deciding to wear a ring, then you'll be wearing one as well, _bodaes_."

"I'll let you return the favor of the silk bindings, one day." He pulled the blankets over their rapidly cooling skin, his bed here more comfortable than the one at the Keep or even Nivarra's expensive mattress. Sand good-naturedly tried nipping at the finger she was waving at him, pouting, "You mean you won't let me collect a harem of women, dear girl? Jealous? Hmm?" He stretched out and laughed, "At the rate at which I encounter women, it shall be another century before I find someone even remotely worth my time. I will have the saddest harem this side of the Anauroch."

Sand kissed her nose. "But yes, when you're ready to wear my ring, I will wear yours. I trust you do not have gaudy tastes in jewelry?" He yawned suddenly, peering out his window. The skies were beginning to lighten - he could see the familiar hues of orange and pink from the rising sun. Dawn and Torio had no need to slink back to her room. Were the gods rewarding them now? Giving them a few days of peace before they were thrown back into the chaos of their lives? "You can sleep in today."

Torio's eyes flicked up at him from beneath the edge of the blanket; she was already working on burrowing down as far as possible, wanting the shut everything out except the heat of Sand's body and the softness of the bed. "And I intend to take full advantage of it, bodaes...as if one could ever sleep in in your room at the Keep, regardless. You tend to have at least one person pounding on your door before breakfast, demanding your presence for something or another." She curled against him, sliding an arm around his waist, her face pressed solidly against his chest.

After a moment, she chuckled sleepily, shutting her eyes. "A harem, is it? Considering my luck with your...with...other women, I would end up killing them all." She ignored the momentary falter in her voice, resolving to keep her eyes shut, to sleep; her arm tightened imperceptibly around Sand's body as she sighed languidly. "I have terrible taste in jewelry," she murmured drowsily. Her fingers played with the ring below the bedcovers, dancing it from finger to finger...technically she should have given it back to him, shouldn't she? Except she was reluctant to part with it for some reason; despite her objections it felt rather good on her fingers. "I'll get you something in jade green, with maybe a carved bullfrog instead of a stone? I hear some tribes in southern Kara-Tur claim the bullfrog is a sign of virility." She pressed her mouth against his skin, dozing off. "That's what you'll get...a giant bullfrog..."

His shoulders silently shook with laughter at the idea of Torio presenting him with a giant bullfrog statue; how would they explain it to everybody at the Keep? He wouldn't be able to keep a straight face as he extolled the values of having a giant symbol of virility in his bedroom. He opened his mouth to reply when he noticed her eyes falling shut. Sand watched her fall asleep, watched her face take on a glowing innocence with its rounder, childish features. He watched her eyes flutter in a dream and he realized he could no longer wander into her thoughts as he once did. But her expression remained soft and Sand sighed, closing his eyes and falling instantly into a deep, blissful slumber even as the first dockworkers began their shifts in the harbor.


	44. Chapter 44

**Volume 3, Chapter 44: Storytelling**

Torio awoke gradually, for the first time in a long time; she knew as soon as the sound of seagulls crying outside the window touched her ears that she was conscious once more. For a while she remained where she lay, enclosed in the crook of Sand's arm, listening to the noises of the busy Docks outside on the street; one man was shouting insults to another in the street while peals of laughter could be heard laced through the raised voices, from onlookers stopping to watch the two men bicker. Ships creaked as they were anchored and tethered or released and set to sail, peddlers shouted the virtues of their wares in a constant stream, and guards called sharp orders to patrols, the clank of metal hardly recognizable in the sea of sounds outside the window. She could nearly paint the image in her head as she lay there, her eyes closed, sea salt and the smell of Sand's skin filling her nostrils.

When she finally opened her eyes and lifted her head, her gaze automatically fell on Sand's face; the faint lines that graced his features were smoothed over in sleep, his head rolled back against the pillow, his mouth slightly parted as he drew in deep, full breaths. From the light of day, she could see a handful of new marks against his skin, scars that she recognized...someone had whipped him. An insensible flash of anger shot through her, balmed by the sight of him lying peaceful, safe for the moment. She snuggled closer to him, and pressed her mouth against the side of his neck, relishing the fact that she could lie next to him undisturbed for as long as she wanted.

When Sand awoke, the sun was high in the sky. He could feel the slightly muggy air that always seemed to surround the Docks district; but overpowering the usual smell of fish and salt was that of books and candles.

Torio.

He lifted his head slightly and gazed down at her. She was already awake, her eyes half opened, her breathing quiet. "Well..." he said lightly. "I think I needed that sleep more than I originally thought." Sand sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and kissing the top of her head. "Bath then food? Then...?" It was strange having the day to themselves, with nothing terribly pressing to do other than pass the time and amuse themselves. No potions to make, reports to summarize, spells to cast.

Torio chuckled, and stretched against him languidly, squinting as she peered at the sky outside; ever since that fateful night in the library her sleeping patterns had been completely turned backwards, and tramping through Elysium had not done much to help matters. She briefly wondered if by consenting to marry Sand she'd fate herself to spend the rest of her light burning the late night candle and sleeping away the morning. _Not a fate worse than death, I suppose._ "You could tell me what happened to you after that Wish spell." She arched her eyebrows down at him sardonically as she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. "I learned...a few things of what happened to you from where I was...but not much." She fell silent as she remembered the seer's words from the little riverboat, and then glanced back down at him. Her stomach chose that moment to grumble rather plaintively; she hadn't eaten since before they had infiltrated the manor, and that had been...

...well, technically, only yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? It had seemed years ago, ages ago...she slid from the bed and turned towards him, bobbing a mocking curtsey. "Point me in the direction of the bath if you will, _bodaes_."

"Out into the hall at the top of the stairs, around the small corner." He gestured where he had the small tin tub set up. "If there's no water in the barrels, I'll go fetch some from the well by the Flagon." He went to the wardrobe and pulled out a simple set of brown robes. "If I tell you what's happened to me, you'll have to tell me what's happened to you."

He wasn't terribly anxious to relive his time in Luskan but he was very curious about her adventures, especially how she managed to get back to Abeir-Toril. And Mephasm...

That unpleasant feeling of being utterly used and played was back momentarily and Sand shook his head firmly. He had been used by everyone; at least one expected to be used by a devil. He crept down the stairs, peering into his shop. It was empty for the moment and he went downstairs, opening the door a crack.

He waved to one of the street urchins that regularly hung out around the Flagon. " 'ey, Meester Elf, what kin I do fer ya?" Sand dropped a handful of coins into the boy's hand. "Be a lad and get me some bread, cheeses and meats from the Flagon. But don't tell whoever is there who you're getting it for. And get yourself something too." The boy turned to scamper off and Sand said warningly, "And if you think about stealing from me, boy, I'll find you and turn you into a frog."

The boy gave him a wicked grin and darted across the street to the Flagon. He watched him enter the Inn and a few minutes later emerged with the food. Sand picked up the bundle and thanked the boy, before closing his door and running back up the stairs. He put the food on the desk and absent-mindedly began eating a piece of cheese. "I have food, Torio!"

The bathwater was slightly cool, but with faint traces of the grime from their misadventure the night before still clinging to her, she merely plunged into the tin tub and began scrubbing; she heard Sand walk by the door and down the stairs, the wood creaking around her as if the house was a living thing, sighing at their movements.

There were a few folded towels that looked clean, albeit as if they had been unused for a long while; she wondered briefly how long it had been since Sand had lived here. Ever since they picked up the warlock, the Knight Captain (and, by extension, Sand) had been spending most of their time at the Keep. Not that she could have complained, since she had been rather tightly bound to the Keep, as well. It was a rather good stroke of fate that brought her there, despite the circumstances she had been in. If Sand hadn't hated her as much as he did, he probably would have indifferently suggested that they just hang her.

Now she had a ring on her finger..._why is that still there?_She should really give it back to him…_maybe if I just...carried it around with me for a while. He surely wouldn't mind that..._

When she heard Sand's voice, she towel rubbed her hair dry, then wrapped the towel around herself and slipped out into the main bedroom, her bare feet padding silently against the floor. Her mouth quirked in amusement as her eyes caught the spread of food across the desk. "Invisible servants at your beck and call, Sand?" She sidled up behind him, slipping her arms around him from behind, her fingers catching a handful of grapes and bringing them up to her mouth as she stood on her toes and rested her chin on his shoulder. She swallowed, and nuzzled the back of his neck for a moment. "Or did you rob some poor Docks family of their breakfast?"

Sand snorted lightly and gave Torio a mock, scathing look. "No, I believe those would be your tactics." Still with Torio against him, he broke off a piece of bread. "Conveniently purchased for us from the Flagon by one of the children that regularly hang about the Docks. I hope this doesn't offend her Highness?"

He turned around so that he was facing her and tugged on the towel so that it dropped to the ground. "You'll find some robes in the wardrobe there that should fit you." He bit into the bread and then hurriedly brushed away the crumbs that fell between them and landed on her breasts, grinning slightly. "Sorry, dear girl."

Sand finished his bread and then stepped back from her. "Now, my turn to wash the Luskan dirt from me. Then I can polymorph us and we can go about the town, find a tea shop, talk. Won't it be nice to see Neverwinter without trying to kill half its citizens?"

He kissed her cheek swiftly and proceeded to the bath where he quickly washed himself in the cool water. His whole body was beginning to ache from the days of tension; he ran his fingers over the scar from where Nivarra had stabbed him. What would he have done if Torio hadn't had intervened at that crucial moment? Would his body have been thrown into one of the many unmarked graves for slaves and criminals? Would anybody have missed him, known that he was even missing? Would Duncan now own his little shop and home - nothing as glorious as the Keep or the houses in the Blacklake District, but his; bought and paid for with his sweat and blood.

Torio had eaten her fill, and had pulled a simple green robe from one of the wardrobes, forgoing the garments that were obviously imbued with magic; she wouldn't put it past Sand to have been conducting dangerous experiments on his own clothing.

Sand was still in the bathroom, so she turned her attention to the shelves and the small desk that ringed around the room...there were few things that seemed personal touches to her, even in the sanctuary of Sand's own house. No mini painted portraitures of relatives, no stacks of letters...she touched the edge of the desk lightly as her eyes flicked over what appeared to be notes on the functions of certain spells, the beginning of a report to Castle Never, a list of components. She wondered what had happened for Sand to choose to live amongst humans; he spoke of elven elders in his childhood, but she realized that outside of the scathing rumors that flew around about him and his most recent past, she had no idea what the rest of his life had been like.

She half-considered asking him that, instead of what happened to him in Luskan. A part of her didn't want to know what Luskan had done to him; a part of her knew that she would be angered by it, hurt, inflamed at the things that Sand had gone through. She'd want revenge, she'd want to kill Nivarra all over again, but she'd be completely unable to do anything except sit and listen and writhe. But his past...

_There'll be plenty of time to ask him about that._

His voice floated up behind her, and she turned, a faint smile quirking her lips. "The day is ours? What's left of the day, you mean? My goodness, but a bath has done you wonders; I can practically see the normal shade of your skin, bodaes." She placed a hand on her hip, cocking them slightly. "So what faces are we wearing today? Honestly, a day that I can get by in my own skin without risking the wrath of a pitchforked crowd will be a day in the heavens."

Sand held out a piece of the cocoon threads for her and grasped some of the silken strands between his fingers. "But I thought you liked playing dress-up, Torio." He had to admit it was entertaining giving her a new physical appearance and then seeing how she reacted to it. One day he would have to turn her into a gnome for kicks; he'd first caste _Haste_ upon himself though so he could run from her wrath. He recited the familiar words, touching her upper arm lightly and held his breath as her outline shimmered.

She reformed before him, a sun elf, with long, white hair that curled in gentle tresses around her shoulders. Her new body was quite petite, lithe except he had left her breasts the same size, mostly for his own selfish pleasure. And, as per usual, her eyes remained unchanged. She would turn quite a few heads, he was certain. He quickly made the spell permanent and then cast _Polymorph_ upon himself, feeling the strange pressure that radiated outwards from the strands of coccoon.

Torio watched as Sand's form shimmered in front of her, and felt a resigned pang of disappointment; she had missed seeing his face rather desperately, and she felt a wry smile tug at the corner of her mouth as his features disappeared into misty nothingness for a moment, before reappearing...

The half-elf before her blinked open his blue eyes beneath a head of wavy, thick red hair that curled neatly around his sylvan ears. The beard that followed the edge of his jawling was neatly trimmed, curling slightly at the ends as well, and his body was slightly bigger, compacted with added layers of muscularity, a stretch of inches added to his height.

She arched a brow at him appreciatively, then glanced down at herself, fingering a strand of pale hair between her fingers; her skin had a distinctively golden hue to it, and she realized with some fluttering anticipation that she was an elf again. She infinitely preferred being herself first and foremost, of course, but those ears...She found her eyes focusing on Sand's mouth for a moment, and she looked away, clearing her throat and attempting to ignore the faint flush that ran through her face. "So what are our aliases? I'm more familiar with Luskan, I'm afraid...will we be safe from too much questioning wandering around the Docks?"

Sand ran his hand along his cheek and chin, feeling the coarse hairs. By the gods, it was itchy already and he had been in this shape for less than a minute. "We'll be safe enough; Neverwinter is quite used to visitors and travelers. My name will be...Derrim." He glanced in the full length mirror; he was a good half a foot taller than her now - not quite as tall as he was when he was 'Tanith' but he suspected he would be a lot less clumsy as a half-elf than a human. "Now dear girl, might I recommend this delightful sweets and tea shop in the Merchants' District? They sell sweet sticky buns! And we can find a seamstress and find some dresses for you." He straighten his posture slightly. "We should send word to Nasher or Gend that we're safe but in hiding and we'll contact them at the palace in a few days."

He took her hand in his and his fingertips touched the ring he had given her and she was still wearing. "So...for this adventure, are you my...fiancee or my wife?"

Torio laughed, her eyes glittering shrewdly. "Fiancee," she said wryly. "I am your betrothed, Misae...and if the Merchant District has sweet buns, then to the Merchant District we shall go." She traced her hand up his arm, feeling his warm skin beneath his sleeve, and slipped her arm through the crook in his elbow, squeezing it lightly. "Shall we? Lead the way, _a'mael_."

When they stepped out from the shop and into the streets, Torio found her eyes wandering over the buildings as they passed them; children scampered by, chasing each other, taunting the guards and asking inane questions of the workman that were doing their best to ignore them. Merchants called to them, one man extolling the virtues of animal skin rugs that were spread out at his feet and commenting on how they might feel on a young woman's skin, while another woman shouted shrilly in a piercing voice that her meat pies were on sale for the next five minutes. As they grew close to the gathering crowd around her stand, an older man glanced at them both and laughed. "They're on sale for a reason," he said gruffly. "Just walk away, I promise, you won't regret it." The guards mostly ignored them as they passed; some folks who caught her eyes nodded at her, and they caught more than one curious look, from those unapathetic enough to notice their passage, but Sand's pace seemed unhurried, relaxed, and she slowly felt the knot of tension between her shoulder blades ease.

It was nothing like Luskan. There, even walking innocently down the street might be the last coherent act you would perform in your life, the latter having the distinct possibility of being cut rather short. But here...oh, she could see that there were plenty of dark alleys and off-looking characters sulking in them, and she could tell that some of the children's innocent "playing" caused them to bump into money-purse carrying adults more often than might be deemed accidental, but the streets were clean and the guards seemed alert and interested in the people meandering through the streets in a way that made her feel protected rather than terrified.

And then the gates opened on the long bridge that led across the river, and they headed into the Merchant district.

The crowd in the Merchants' District was immensely different than that of the Docks. Men and women in fine tailored outfits walked past; the children here were all scrubbed clean and clutching their parents' hands unlike the scampering street children of the Docks. Sand wondered briefly if he should find the building that used to house his shop until he moved to the Docks; but what would Torio care? That all was history now, a history that didn't involve her.

Sand immediately turned right, towards the row of shops that were across from the open area where the kobold Deekin formerly sold his wares. The shops here were still among the lower end of the shops; towards the Temple of Tyr was found the more upscale merchants. But here, practically hidden among the larger squat shops, was a small bakery with a few tables; he pushed the door open and a small bell jingled.

A plump, middle aged woman bustled from the back, her greying hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Ah, what can I get for the gent and his lady?"

Sand gave Torio an amused glance and pointed to two of the largest, most sugar coated buns she had available. "The lady likes her sweets. And some tea, if you please." Sand carefully carried the treats to the table in the corner, furthest away from all the other tables. The bakery was deserted at this time of day but he still spoke in hushed tones. "This reminds me of Port Llast, dear girl." He bit into the pastry, washing it down with the hot tea. "You start."

Torio shut her eyes for a moment, her mouth sinking around a portion of the frosted sweet bun; _oh heavens and all that is merciful_... The Blessed Fields or no, she hadn't had a sticky bun the entire time she was there, and suddenly the Merchant District of Neverwinter seemed as holy as any field in Amoria. She regarded Sand musingly as she licked a trail of frosting from her lips, and tipped her tea cup against her mouth, clearing her throat.

"Ladies first, is that it?" She asked lightly, remembering her fear-choked comment back on the day this had all started, when they had plunged down the stairs to the basement of Crossroad Keep where Vale had been waiting for them. "I'm not sure to this day whether or not you sent me to where I ended up on purpose; but I landed in Amoria, if you'd believe it." She couldn't help laughing quietly into her cup as she tipped it again for another sip. "The Blessed Fields, Sand. You sent me to Elysium, of all places."

And after that it was suddenly easier. She told him of Benignus, and how the cervidal had carried her to Pelor's temple where she had been healed, sheltered, and prepared for the long journey she chose to undertake. Her voice was laced with a faint sadness as she spoke, the cervidal's death still creeping at the corners of her mind; but she went on, describing the plants, the trees, the animals - the first day of her journey that took her down the river where Dahras eventually found her.

As she spoke, she noticed the afternoon crowd filling in a bit, a low hum of conversation creating a pleasant background noise behind them. Ironically enough, the tables immediately around them remained empty; whether by accident or because their hunched shoulders, heads together postures told the entire world that interruptions of any sort would not be tolerated on a day such as this, and they remained in relative privacy. She swirled the tea in her cup absently, her voice thick with a longing she didn't know she felt as she spoke of the lupinal pack, of Chaksa and Dahras and the young wolf-life creatures that had watched her bright-eyed and fervent around the fire, of Chaksa's selflessly offered guardianship and her acceptance of Torio into the pack. She faltered for a moment, and glanced ruefully at Sand. "I suppose I miss them a bit," she said quietly. "Just my luck to acquire a family that's covered in fur and on an entirely different plane."

She stumbled onwards, attempting to blink away the sudden wetness in her eyes as she described the war camp, the meeting in the elaborate tent, her sudden and rather inexplicable role as their tactician. "I was simply trying to get back, and yet doing so kept drawing me further and further into this battle; first, Dahras promising to take me to his mother, and then Chaksa promising to take me to Talisid. It was unfathomable, how quickly I was drawn into all of it." And then she described the riverboats, and the amazing displays of magic and trickery amongst the merchants; she spoke of visiting the Seer's boat, and here she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's there that I found out...that...ah...she told me of you and a new 'mistress'...Nivarra, I'm presuming. And then somehow, I still can't explain it, but Garius was there, speaking through her, and he validated her words, said that you were..." her face flushed slightly as she drained her cup and reached for the pot to refill it. "Well, let's just say that Garius isn't the most reliable source, but it was...difficult to hear. I had no inkling of there being a geas involved, and it was..." She remembered the smell of grass crushed beneath her fingers as she had screamed and wept into the bank of the river. "...ah...not my best night, by a long shot." Her cup refilled, she paused for a moment to soothe her throat with the hot liquid.

Sand stared at her face, quietly listening to her story. She had told him countless stories before but never before had he heard her so moved. Guardinals? Lupinal families? Wars with devils? The story seemed so fantastical; he was half-expecting Torio to turn into Grobnar for a moment and suggest they go hunting for wendersnavens. But she mercifully remained Torio, albeit Polymorphed. Perhaps he should have turned her into a gnome. It would almost make her story more believable. But her voice held no trace of deceit; it was as raw and honest as he had ever heard it.

"At the time, dear girl, I had merely been trying to send you some place safe, some place where you would finally be happy. Maybe...when the war with the Guardian is over, I can spell us both back to Elysium. If you have a family now, I would love to meet them." He stared into his empty tea cup, looking at the leaves at the bottom. What would a seer say about them now? Would a fortune teller read his leaves and wish him a long, prosperous life with the woman he loved or was that merely a goal that would never be attainable to him, no matter how many spells he knew or how hard he studied. "I'll... I'll explain more about Nivarra when it's my turn."

He suddenly smiled at her. "You know about Nivarra and yet you still came for me?"

Torio's mouth twisted wryly as she glanced at him. "It was rather more complicated than that; but I couldn't forget you. There's an Entrapping effect that the plane has on outsiders, that makes their memories fade until they become petitioners, remembering nothing of their former lives. It...some days it was difficult to remember details, but for the most part I kept you in mind, and a few times my mind was a clear as it always had been." She fingered another bite of the bun into her mouth, sighing pleasurably as the confection melted against her tongue. She swallowed and wrapped her fingers around her cup, studying the stranger's face across from her that nonetheless carried Sand's countenance, his blue eyes gleaming at her. She was slightly uncomfortable, being reminded of the risk she had taken returning, possibly to an old lover that no longer wanted her, for all she knew. It seemed foolhardy, ridiculous, senseless to the logical observer, but she knew she couldn't have done anything else. "I suppose it was worth the risk, to me. Maybe I didn't half-believe it, some days." Her voice was slightly defensive, but her eyes were softened as she looked at him. "Either way, I had to know."

She went on, describing the meeting with Prince Talisid and the seven companions, their decision to use her tactics, the snake's offer to her from the Devil Lord's camp, her eventual refusal, the forced march across the grasslands...it seemed like too much to have happened in the short amount of time she described. Her eventual trip to Gwillikins, meeting the people there; her voice caught slightly when she described Lend, and then Saeldur, detailing the library and its multiple towered floors, the temple below it and the celebratory mood of the inhabitants of the town even on the eve of a battle. The preparations, the chaos, the exhaustion: they had singlehandedly put her in charge of defending an entire town, and she had never run a battle in her entire life, only read on theories and tactics from books.

And when the battle had come, it had been over so quickly she had still been reeling from it when they sent everyone downriver, towards Talisid's main encampment. "We were exhausted, beleaguered...my gods, you should have seen the villages they left behind, they made Ember look like a child's playground." She described the Prince's encampment, the anxiety over learning who was still alive and who was dead...her fingers brushed against her teacup lightly as she quietly, and without too much detail, spoke of Saeldur visiting her tent on the eve of the battle. "I think he knew all along, despite what I was trying to tell myself, that I was going to come back. He heard me speak of you...by gods, I think every creature in Amoria knew by then why I was helping Talisid." She sighed wearily. "And I had been..." she was reluctant to describe how wounded she had been; baring such a weakness, even to Sand, went against every grain in her body, but she found her voice went on. "I couldn't stop picturing you with that...woman. And we were both more than a little terrified." She emptied her cup again; the tea wasn't that bad, she noticed, and wondered why her tongue picked that specific moment to make her aware of this.  
"And with good reason...not even a few hours past midnight, and the devils came out to parlay."

And she began describing Amon and the serpent that had attempted to barter her betrayal, earlier; how she had gone with them to remove Amon from the battlefield. She began describing Lord Geryon with such an intense loathing in her voice that for a moment she had to pause and pick up her tea, taking a long drink to quench her thirst.

And then there was Mephasm. His bargain with her when she found the blade, and her almost dreamlike state as she walked through the devil's encampment, across the raging battlefield, and up to where she drove the blessed weapon into the half-snake, half-man creature's hide. And then the yawning, gaping maw of earth that had opened beneath them, nearly pulling her in...when Mephasm appeared again.

"That's when he bargained for Nivarra's life," she said quietly. "He would save me from falling down into the hells with every devil there, if I promised to kill your mistress."

Sand dropped his eyes down to the crumbs that lay scattered on the table. He had sent her away to the veritable heavens yet even there, evil had managed to track her down and immerse her in its drowning grasp. What was it about her that drew malevolence to her like flies?

_But you're drawn to her, aren't you, Sand?_

And this...Saeldur...elf. He mulled it over; his mind rationalized her actions easily, his heart gave a small confused thump in his chest. She had slept with another; and yet she had given up eternal bliss, peace and a family, she had risked devils and monsters, to come back to find him even though she knew more likely than not he was with another woman. He understood her entirely but there was still that small jealous twinge that tugged at him. "Well," he quipped lightly. "I suppose I'm pleased to see your taste in elves didn't change across the Planes. He sounds rather perfect for you; I'm sure if you had stayed you would have been quite happy. Perhaps that was the gods way of taking care of you, dear girl, if you had chosen to stay. But -" He smiled blithely at her. "He didn't have access to the spells I do, did he? Still, that sounds like quite the Library. At least you didn't do it on the table." The words came out sharper than he intended and he smiled apologetically. "You should tell the warlock of all this. The devil parts, not the elf part. He would find it interesting and probably be able to offer you insights."

He went back to fidgeting with his tea cup for a moment, no longer thirsty but drinking simply to do something with his hands. Her description of the swirling vortex gave him the shivers. He could only begin to imagine her terror at that moment. "I'm sorry, Torio. When I sent you away, I didn't mean to put you into worse danger. I find it interesting that Mephasm played us so well; he made himself a rather profitable bargain but we both survived and earned our freedom from it, so really, I shouldn't complain. So I am now rather reticent about visiting his half of the basement." He leaned back heavily in his chair. "Elf-lover, honorary lupinal, devil slayer, infernal dealer. My own 'adventures' will pale in comparison, dear girl."

She found her fingers had been curled rather tightly around the small, rounded fingerhole at the side of the cup, and she forced them to relax, to lay flat against the table. There were still the faint twinges of guilt, of anger, of self-righteous justification; and then she remembered the sick feeling in her stomach when she had learned that Sand had been geased the entire time, and she sighed, shutting her eyes. "I'm afraid I saved all table testing for you," she said quietly. "I'll tell you, Candlekeep looks more and more inviting every day, if the offer is still open."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a faint headache coming on, more than likely from the sound of her own voice continuously running on. "I highly doubt that your adventures will pale in comparison to anything," she said dryly. "What I saw in that cellar was anything but ordinary." She slipped the last bite of her sweet bun and sighed, fortified for the moment.

She finished her tale recounting the after effects of the battle, the farewells...strangely Ghero's words still rang through her head clearer than even Talisid's did, clearer than anyone else's, and she almost wistfully described her last look of Amoria before the bridge stretched beneath her feet and dropped her...

"...in Port Llast, nonetheless," she said, snorting. And Abelor was there; she had learned of the bounty on her head. "Which," she added, "Would make traveling under my own guise difficult for a bit, at least until Nasher manages to bargain for its removal." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "If he so chooses, of course. But we managed to sneak into Luskan, Abelor and the other three, and me, of course, stuffed down into a barrel like a jack in the box." She shrugged her shoulders. "I contacted Maxxil to find out if he could help me, and it just so happens that he needed a lawyer for a certain case the Moonstars had been brewing. They agreed to help me get you out in exchange for winning the case against Dornan...or appearing to, anyway, since the entire thing was a complete farce." And yet justice had been done...ironic, that. "They disguised me, brought me to court, and the rest...as they say, is history." She sat back, feeling utterly drained, her voice slightly husky from the strain of talking.

Sand reached across the small table, grasping her hands in his and unconsciously toying with the ring again. "The offer for Candlekeep will always stand, dear girl." They had run out of food and drink and he could see the dusk settling down around the shop. The after dinner crowd was now trickling in, mostly pairs and couples speaking in hushed voices. He had completely lost track of time listening to her tale. Abruptly, he stood and made his way to the counter again, selecting and paying for a fruit and custard type of dessert. He needed something sweet to balance out his own bitter story of the events of his recent life.

He sat back down, poking at the dessert a bit with his fork before beginning his story. "I lost consciousness after I used the _Wish_ spell. They kept me drugged for...oh gods... I don't know how long but when I woke up, I was already geased and chained to Nivarra." He closed his eyes, remembering the first terrifying moments of meeting Nivarra. "Luskan knows about us. Quite a bit about us, about you. I was forced to tell them. I'm so sorry - I had no choice. That's probably why there's a bounty on your head; they know you're alive, they know you were in Luskan with me before I was captured. I wouldn't be surprised if Gend and Nasher know by now as well."

He described the requirements Dornan and Nivarra had put on him: the spells, the torture, the potions. He swallowed thickly as he recounted meeting Birren, Theona and the others at the dinner - how they had bid for him like a rare artifact at an auction. "Birren won and I had to betray Silverfox and the others. I tried sending them a magical warning but I don't know..." His eyes met hers, desperate, sad and begging for forgiveness. The three spies had saved their lives and he turned around and gave them up.

He fell silent for a long while, his guilt still making him nauseated. "Nivarra was right. I...did sleep with her nearly every night. As a reward, as a punishment. I hated her and yet at the same time, she could be so comforting - a familiar face. It was hard, Torio, when everyday that I woke up could have been my last." He described sneaking about to deliver messages for Birren, and then getting caught. The silver collar and the beatings. Hipshari. Yune. The frustration of not being able to flick his fingers and call up a simple spell. "Nothing frightened me more I think, than being one of the nameless, magicless creatures of Luskan but it did lead me to Matthew..." She knew of the Moonstars end of the situation and now he filled her in on the other side - meeting Doss, the elaborate plot... "I'm barely through half my tale and yet it seems as though I've betrayed everyone." He gave her a small wry grin. "Very Luskan of me."

Torio listened quietly, flexing her fingers and catching his between them; she watched the little flame on their candle flicker back and forth as Sand spoke, a lance of dead shooting through her. _Luskan knew._ If Luskan knew, it wouldn't be long before Neverwinter might know. And the spies...

And Nivarra, hells take her...she felt a flush of naked jealousy shoot through her at the thought of Sand, even a desperate, ensorcelled, miserable Sand, taking comfort in that harpy's arms...she steadied her breathing, comforting herself poorly with the fact that the woman was dead.

And the geas was laid out on the table, the unbeatable trump card; she'd remembered how the bracelet's spells had lain on her heavy and commandeering, a listless weight that refused to ease up on her. The effects of a full blown, magical geas...she couldn't even begin to fathom. Her grip tightened on his hand as he described being without magic, being tortured; her mind flickered to the elongated scars that now marked his skin, and she risked a glance at his polymorphed face. His blue eyes were tinged with misery, and she sighed, her mouth twisting in a wry smile. "Luskan is not particularly kind to its slaves." _Or its courtesans_. She watched her thumb trace over the knuckle of his hand. "It's amazing how many plots steeped themselves around you while you were there...that the Red Dragon got involved is just...indescribable, and the Moonstars as well...you seemed to be a catalyst for it all." She sounded almost awed.

Sand gripped her fingers tightly in hers as he began relieving the dinner at the Hosttower and laughed bitterly. "Oh my dear girl, I'm not done yet. Nivarra and her father sought to use me to gain leverage with the Arcane Brotherhood; unfortunately that entailed spilling many secrets. But like all matters with the Brotherhood, they tried turning it against the girl." His voice was small as he told her how helpless he had been against the geas, with all of Luskan watching him pour his most intimate thoughts to them; how the only saving grace of the night was slipping the stolen papers into the Moonstars' contacts hands. "I'm so sorry, dear girl."

Torio felt, insensibly, a flush of pained embarrassment; she still had names and ways of contacting several people in Luskan, and even though she had left the city in disgrace, it was disgrace born of attempting to bring down one of Neverwinter's heroes. An honorable disgrace, one that would have had her remembered, if not as a success, at least a rather crafty and manipulative failure. But now...from the pained look on Sand's face, she realized that even that rather thin facade had been shattered. The thought of them laughing at her was...

_...well..._It wasn't as if she'd be going back there again, regardless.

Sand ate a few bites of the dessert. Here things were getting more convoluted. "The Moonstars moved very quickly but not fast enough. There was a girl...Friya..." His throat tightened and he found himself angry at Dornan again, wishing he could see the man work as a slave. He stabbed at a piece of fruit savagely and then described the horrific events on the front lawn of the mansion. "And as you know, Dornan needed me to be his lawyer..." His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. "So now in terms of court proceedings, I believe we are tied."

Torio slid a piece of the custard into her mouth the prevent having to speak as Sand went on. She studied Sand closely, hearing the raw indignity, the fury, at what had happened on the lawn in his voice; he had cared about the servants in the manor, and with him at the center of all the chaos he must have been stretched impossibly thin. And he hadn't been able to save the woman. It all seemed so gods damned complicated...

It was all so gods damned Luskan.

"At the same time, Nivarra had a plan to ingratiate herself into the Hosttower of the Arcane. It involved invoking an Avatar of Shar - the...thing you had to kill. The thing Mephasm now possesses. She needed me to perform the ritual so many days were spent preparing for that." Sand chuckled coldly. "But as all things in Luskan, Birren relayed his suspicions about her plans, based on my spying, over to the mages of the Hosttower, for his own gain I'm certain. They came to me, removed the geas from Nivarra and over to them. I was about to spell Nivarra away for her own safety when Mephasm appeared."

He lapsed back into another long silence. "I know you had to kill her as part of your bargain so I'm not upset. But...imagine if we had control of a Nightbringer. Garius' plans would be doomed to fail!"

She pulled his hand to her, peeling his fingers open and pressing her mouth against his palm for a moment, where she had briefly glimpsed the fading infernal glyph before it had disappeared forever. "Garius will fail regardless," she said evenly. "We have no choice, he has to fail. And using a creature of the Shadow Weave such as...well, anything belonging to Shar...it would be risky." _Great power always comes with great risk_. Garius' words; she had heard them so many times, but now, he was simply an empty shell, no more than a puppet that served.

And she was alive. She kissed Sand's palm once more and released his hand. "I'm not sure whether to thank Mephasm, at this point, or strangle him."

Sand scratched the beard, unused to the feeling of hair everywhere, his palm still tingling pleasantly from where Torio had kissed him. "My, dear girl... are you tempering your lust for power? Yes, it would have been risky but no more risky than anything we've tried to defeat Garius." He pushed the empty plate aside, the ceramic clattering noisily on the uneven wooden surface. "I, personally, will be avoiding Mephasm for a while. But I think it will be prudent to let Jerro know about the Nightbringer." He could only imagine the warlock's reaction as he found out they had inadvertently bound a goddess' avatar to Mephasm.

He leaned across the table and kissed her lips, brushing his fingers through her soft white hair and over her pointed ears. "We really do make a formidable team, Claven." His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the laughing voices of the shop. "But it seems we're going to have to be prepared to answer questions about our involvement together and perhaps face some consequences soon. Knowing Nasher, he'll want to keep it all under wraps and pass it off as some Luskan rumor to discredit Neverwinter. Nevalle..." Sand furrowed his brow. "I don't know what to make of Nasher's aid these days."

An involuntary, happy noise rolled through the back of her throat as Sand's fingers brushed her ears, and she felt a small flash of embarrassment at the quick way her body responded, coupled with disappointment as Sand pulled away too quickly for her liking. She sighed. "I'm not even sure telling Jerro is a good idea; that man...if he can still be classified as such...is the most single-minded creature I've ever met in my life. He might be tempted to try and use the Nightbringer, too, and..." Here, she held up her hand, "Despite what you say, I've seen what happens to those who try to bend the Shadow Weave to its will. You only saw glimpses of Garius, and the end result after the failed ritual." How could she describe the dull, underlying panic that had risen, day after day, the dread and raw terror that had filled her as Garius had grown closer and closer to tapping into the ancient Guardian's power, tainted as it was? "The entire affair turned him from the ruthless, manipulative, ambitious man that I...well, nevertheless respected, despite all else, into something...hollowed out. Lifeless, filled with nothing but malevolence and apathy towards every living thing."

She pressed her mouth into a grim line. "Not that I'm one to talk about revering the sanctity of life, but even wielding power has to has some purpose...what's the use if you kill everything you touch?" She toyed with Sand's fingers, her voice dropping low. "Even ambition has limits before it turns into obsession. It was difficult and frightening to watch my master throw himself into acquiring something so powerful. I can't even fathom what it would be like watching you do the same." She met his eyes. "Call it tempering my supposed 'lust for power.' I feel no good could come from it." Her tone lightened as she glanced at him archly from underneath her lashes. "Or maybe it's merely being overshadowed by a lust for something else entirely; I must say, bodaes, you've changed my mind about quite a few things already."

She fell silent for a moment, watching their serving girl clear the table next to them. When the woman left, she murmured, "As far as Nevalle goes, he's got his own demons to deal with, quite literally. There are rumors he shares a bed occasionally with the tiefling...and it was validated by the assassin that attacked him months ago; that was how the woman found Nevalle's room." She avoided Sand's gaze momentarily as she thought of the girl she had killed...killed because she knew about the illicit relationship between the Luskan turncoat and the Luskan spy. _And now Nasher was going to find out, anyway._

One more stain on her 'spotless' track record.

Sand grasped her hands firmly in his. "Well, dear girl, if you feel it would be unwise, we won't pursue that avenue of action." Impulsively, he leaned across the table and kissed her again. "You'll have to tell me how else I've changed your mind. Perhaps you're not as stubborn as I originally thought..."

He found himself toying with the ring on her finger again and forced himself to stop. "Come, dear girl, let's find the dressmaker's shop before she closes for the night and get you real women's clothing. I can't have you stealing all my robes now." He stood, the wooden chair scraping against the floor and held out his arm for her. "We might as well take advantage of our freedom in Neverwinter; gods know when we'll be back here."


	45. Chapter 45

**Volume 3, Chapter 45: More Time**

Torio followed suit, and soon they were out on the streets again. The early evening crowd was lively: well-dressed men and women roaming the streets, moving from tavern to tavern, the sound of dancing music spilling from open windows and doors. Shopkeepers were lighting lanterns outside their doors as they walked passed, and for a moment Torio leaned her head against Sand's shoulder, pressing herself snugly against him as they walked; the streets were full of music and life and laughter, and they were merely on their way to a dressmakers shop, instead of their next deadly mission.

Torio wondered with a pang of anxiety how many more deadly missions Nasher would have in store for them, before she resolutely pushed the thought from her mind.

They approached a well-lit, expansive looking shop that nestled on the other side of the street from the Temple of Tyr, and Torio felt a nonsensical thrill at seeing the elaborate gowns in the window. How long had she been trudging through mud and muck, death and despair, sorrow and loss..._andnot__a__scrap__of__silk__in__the__lot._

He opened the door to the shop and a willowy elf emerged from behind the small desk. "Good sir, lady. Anything I can help you with?" The whole shop was full of pre-made dresses: ruffly ones, puffy ones, slim fitting ones, in every imaginable color possible. Most of the dresses were designed for a proper lady and revealed no more skin than was appropriate for a noblewoman; Sand snickered quietly. The walls were also lined with rolls of very expensive looking fabrics; in the back, Sand could see a large mirror and a small stool, as well as a dressmaker's dummy. Sand gestured to the shop. "Anything for you, my dear. I'll...wait at the front."

Torio watched Sand walk away from her and the dressmaker for a moment. Despite the fact that the body was not his, the walk was all Sand: head held slightly aloft, the quasi-arrogant lift to the shoulders, the near silent way his feet pressed into the ground - always on his toes, as if he were ready to run at a moment's notice.

She glanced back at the dressmaker; the elf was watching her with a knowing look. Torio coughed, and said firmly, "My name is Misae." She gestured to the dresses displayed around the shop. "And everything you have here is completely unsuitable." She couldn't help smiling at the woman's blinking, momentarily shocked expression as she nodded towards the back alcove, the stool and mirror waiting for them patiently. "Shall we?"

She had to borrow a shift from the elf's stock, since Sand's robes didn't come with appropriate undergarments that were supposed to be worn for dress fittings. She immediately pointed out a few bolts of fine looking silk, and then her eyes fell on some thick looking, velvety fabric that shimmered luxuriously under the lights, and the elven woman's mouth quirked in a smile as Torio pointed that out as well.

It was something of a blur after that. Torio had preferences that the elven woman clearly didn't approve of, but she followed 'Misae's' instructions well enough. "Are you of mixed blood?" She had asked curiously, politely enough, while measuring Torio's rather un-elven curvature, but when she caught Torio's eyes, the look there seemed to silence her rather effectively, and the only conversation after that dealt with measurements and necklines, hems and circumferences.

It was nearly two hours later when they were done. At least seven different gowns were cut out and pieced, merely waiting for a stitching needle's handiwork, and the elven dressmaker looked exhausted already at the night's work ahead of her, but her eyes gleamed at the prospect of gold. "I can have them for you tomorrow morning," she said earnestly as they made their way back to the front of the shop towards Sand. "Would you like to pick them up? Or shall I send one of our boys to deliver to you?" She directed this question towards Sand, and Torio smirked lightly at him over her shoulder.

Sand's head snapped up from where he had been dozing lightly on the comfortable chaise. "Hmm? Oh - ah... I'll pick them up." He stood, slightly embarrassed that he had fallen asleep but he hadn't expected it to take quite that long. A few things he would have to learn about women, he supposed. He wondered, vaguely, if Torio had had any female friends with whom she could gossip and do such things with or if her life had always been one of fierce competition for survival, where any other female was a rival to be beaten and not trusted. She had certainly seemed that way with Gweynn and Nivarra...

He handed the dressmaker a heavy pouch of gold. "If you could have them done for the afternoon, that would suffice. I have errands in the morning that I need to attend to first." He took Torio's hand again and led her out of the shop. "Your expensive taste in clothes will one day leave me bankrupt, dear girl. I'm going to have to enchant twice as many trinkets now to keep up. But I suppose seeing you in the dresses - and out of them - will be quite worth it."

Torio laughed. "I never requested that you be my purse strings, _a'mael_. Although adventuring tends to be a more lucrative occupation than being held prisoner, I shall give you that." The endearments still came off of her tongue with difficulty; it seemed her throat thickened and her heart jumped over its own beating whenever she spoke them, thinking that Sand might laugh at her, that the entire crowd would turn and laugh at her for even suggesting such words had a place on her tongue.

She clutched at him tighter as they walked, crossing back over the bridge towards the Docks district. "I shall have to repay you then, _Bodaes._" Her voice was lightly teasing. "Surely a powerful wizard such as yourself would have use for a woman capable of translating, deciphering, and identifying ancient artifacts?" She glanced at him slyly. "I may not be able to bake a quiche, but not every man's fiancee can pick apart Netherese scrolls, 'Derrim.'"

Sand began laughing at the idea of Torio in a kitchen. He wiped the tears of genuine mirth from his eyes. "My gods...girl... Would you cook for me? Wouldn't that ruin your perfect nails?" He held her fingers aloft and inspected the nails. "You know, dear girl, the two of us could turn quite a profit working at artificers - with your knowledge of languages and my superb arcane skills combined with both our respective lore..." He could almost see it in his minds' eye - a shop, working for royal courts, personal invitations to examine and study items, sages and adventurers seeking their knowledge... "Why, this could be the answer! You are simply brilliant." He kissed her fully on the mouth, ignoring the fact they were still walking through the Docks. "If you aren't content to merely stay in Libraries with me, we could travel Faerun working as artificers!"

Torio found her fingers sinking into the front of his robes of their own volition, pulling him against her for a moment. "Artificers, is it? As long as we never hold an auction..." Orban Asrar's house, the auction, and the distasteful, lonely night she had had to spend with the handsome, frigid artificer seemed decades behind them. How could so much possibly happen in such a short span of time? She smiled at him slyly as they continued to walk..."This isn't some ploy to use me as a method of gaining access to a multitude of rare artifacts, is it?"

_Would you even mind, Claven? He was right, you do make a formidable team..._

Truth to tell, there would more likely than not be no simple household with babbling children and chores to be done, a garden out back and servants bustling around her; the image of her flashed through her mind again, swollen with child...her mind wandered, trying to picture what their half-elven offspring might look like...dark haired children with her own grey eyes, or maybe curly haired, chestnut-headed and blue-eyed, their ears lobed and slightly pointed...

She realized with a snap back to reality that they were nearing Sand's house again..._andyou'rethinkingofchildren?_ A part of her was repulsed, but a part of her was oddly intrigued; she was not a woman who tolerated children, but...did Sand want children? Did he even think about children? He wanted to marry her, but did he want everything else that was supposed to go along with that?

"You know," she said, chuckling as they slipped into the front door of his shop, "Most men and women discuss...china, and matching linens for the bedrooms, and household servants when they propose marriage...and we're discussing becoming artificers..." By gods, there was a plethora of questions she wanted to ask him; _threehundredyears..._ and she knew next to nothing…

"Oh hello there! Lookin' fer the shopkeep, are ye?" Duncan was standing by the counter, leaning easily against it while the merchant elemental looked on. He smiled at them in a friendly way, but his eyes were eying them curiously. "Do ye know if the elf that runs this shop is back yet, then? Friends of his, are ye? I know him meself, came over te welcome him back."

Sand froze, a smile locked on his face. "Ah? Uh...no - just looking to purchase some items. Saw the lamps were still burning..." It was surprisingly good to see the barkeep's face again, even smell his unwashed tunic and...

_No,__wait,__it__was__never__quite__that__good._..

He suddenly felt sly, giving Torio a furtive look. "So what is the shopkeeper here like? Does he offer decent prices? Not one to rip off the Docks' inhabitants with watered-down potions and the likes?" Sand began pretending to browse the goods of his own shop. The potions would have to be restocked but otherwise the merchant elemental had been doing a decent job of things. "How do you know him? Are you a friend?"

Duncan glanced up towards the stairs that lead up to Sand's personal rooms, hoping the noise of talking customers might draw the elf down. The boy that had come over earlier that afternoon had merely mentioned someone wanting food across the street, and had a handful of ready coins available to pay him.

He had to admit, he had been relieved to think that Sand had returned; the day before, a messenger from the Castle had arrived at his bar, and had slapped the deed and title to Sand's shop on the counter, signed over to him. The sight of it, and the news the messenger had given him...that Sand's will detailed out passing on to him in case of...

Well. He had been more than a little anxious to see the elf for himself; he could wait through a couple of customers if he had to.

"Oh, ye know these elven wizard types. No offense, of course, miss," he added to the rather striking elven woman the half-elf had come in with. She dimpled at him rather prettily, but as he turned towards the half elven man he could have sworn he caught her rolling her eyes. "E's a bit cracked in the head, ye know, but a good sort. Not too talented...Oh!" Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. "Well, his potions all work, if that's what yer worried about, but trust me! Don't let him try and scry anythin' for ye, 'e's a right charlatan when it comes to workin' real magic."

There was a spluttering coughing noise behind him, and he turned; the elven woman was red faced, her coughing sounding suspiciously like laughter.

"A charlatan, is it? I suppose that's why his shop is here and not in the merchant's district." He shot Torio a scathing look; the girl's shoulders were silently shaking. "Though from what _I_can see, he's done a marvelous job of the enchantments on these items. High quality, stable magic!" He would love to risk dispelling the polymorph and have a go at his happy-go-lucky neighbour, but Duncan, like any barkeep, loved talking and that was the one thing Sand did not want to risk at the moment. Not when he could have another night with Torio alone and away from prying eyes.

He would hang up his pride for her.

But unfortunately Duncan seemed quite comfortable at the counter, leaning on the wood with his languid posture, and Sand realized with chagrin that they were going to have to leave the shop and wander about until the half-elf decided to back to his side of the street. "Right. Well. Nice meeting you. Hope you run into your friend soon...I'm just going to buy some..." He looked down at the phial he had randomly picked up in his hand. "Laxatives." He closed his eyes, grimacing for a moment and wishing he had picked a different vial but the damage was done and he had to go with it. He put coins down on the counter, doing his best not to look Duncan too directly in the eyes. "Have a good night then..."

Duncan watched the couple leave the store, chuckling quietly to himself. _Odd__couple._He narrowed his eyes shrewdly, listening for any noises upstairs, but there honestly didn't seem to be anyone there; he felt a twinge of disappointment as the minutes stretched on.

_Well, hells._

Duncan slipped behind the counter, eying the merchant elemental warily...he pulled the deed and title for the shop from his pocket, hurriedly trying to smooth out the parchment from the wrinkles it had acquired while resting in his pocket. People seemed to be dropping like flies around him, lately...but he'd be damned if he took the shop lying down.

"Er...just...let him...have that when he comes back, aye?" The elemental looked disturbingly unconcerned as the half-elf glanced around the shop once more, and slipped back out the front door.

Torio was laughing almost uproariously as her and Sand exited the shop. Sand's bearded face was contorted in a mixed expression of irritation and controlled mortification. "Oh, well done," she whispered gleefully as they slipped down the street a few blocks. "Yes, very smooth, wizard, I'm sure the poor bartender had no idea who you really were after that quite compelling performance..." A guard gave them a disapproving look as they passed, her laughter echoing down loudly down the street, and after he passed, she pulled Sand off to the side into the shadows, glancing back towards his shop. "Don't you have a back door or something similar? Can you teleport us upstairs?" She glanced up at him for a moment, her mouth twisted wryly. "You might as well have a backup plan for getting inside and out of your house besides the front door, with the enemies we've garnered."

Sand watched as the door to his shop opened the Duncan walked across the street and entered the Flagon. Was it his imagination or was the half-elf's shoulder a little stooped? Perhaps before he returned to the Keep he would stop by the Flagon, to trade barbs with him a bit. As much as he complained and harped about the barkeep, they _were_friends of sorts.

He looked again at Torio. She seemed preternaturally amused by everything; she was practically radiating and he jokingly waved the vial of laxatives at her. "Don't make me slip this into your food, dear girl!" He sunk deeper into the shadows. "Yes I can teleport us in..." He held her hands tightly as he incanted the words...

_Thump!_

They landed softly back in the front of his shop, hardly losing balance. "We're getting quite good at this I think..." The elemental was still standing there, no reaction at two people suddenly materializing in front of it. Sand replaced the bottle of laxatives and went over to the counter to pick up his coins when he noticed a crumpled piece of parchment.

He picked it up, curious and with a small smile realized it was the legal papers for his shop. So - they had thought him and Torio both dead and had executed his will. His eyes flicked back to the doorway. He was somewhat touched at his friend's refusal to believe him dead. Despite his long list of failed aspirations and his constant slander of calling his a charlatan, the half-elf really wasn't too bad... He held up the papers for Torio. "They think we're both dead."

Torio arched a brow at the fluttering piece of parchment between Sand's fingers. _Ahyes...thewill._Thinking of it brought to mind the episode in the carriage when he had told her he was leaving everything behind to her, in case something happened to him. It was odd, but she almost missed the magical link they had had between their minds; his thoughts flickering briefly at the back of hers had been strangely comforting...but it was pointless to create the bond again, she supposed; now they were relatively safe, and they didn't need such things.

"Dead...Do you think they'd even be looking for us, then?" She looked up into his polymorphed face; his eyes were ever his, sharp and clear and intensely brilliant, and she could get used to his new face, if she had to. Permanently polymorphed, new faces, new identities... "You protected us when we arrived, though...I take it a _Polymorph_ spell won't fool magical scrying, will it?" She frowned thoughtfully. "Bodaes...you realize, if they think we're dead..." There was an edge of excitement to her voice as she slid her arms around his shoulders, her face inches from his, fervent and questioning. "We could simply leave! How much energy could they expend into finding us? I mean, really, especially with the war..." her own voice faltered for a moment. Disturbingly, she remembered her own voice: _Garius__will__fail,__regardless...we__have__no__choice.__He__has__to__fail._

Her enthusiasm was infectious and Sand found himself imagining where they could disappear to. Waterdeep, most certainly, would be the easiest place. There were so many cities to the south he had yet to explore and with the teleportation spell, they could travel from city to city in a blink of an eye. But it would be life on the lam. "No, the _Polymorph_ spell will not fool adept mages such as those in Luskan or in the Cloaktower. All they would need from us is a piece of clothing or a hair and they'd be able to find us easily enough. We would always be on the run, always changing our names and appearances." He locked up his shop and turned the lamps down. "We would never be able to return to Neverwinter."

He turned and without a second thought, dispelled the _Polymorph_ spells on both of them. Sand cupped her face in his hands, relieved to see her full cheeks and child-like nose again. "I doubt they would try very hard to find us. We're the expendable former Luskans to Nasher. It's why we were originally selected for this mission, dear girl." He sighed and led the way up the stairs, to the bed. "No matter how many times we discuss this, I think both you and I know we have to head back to the Keep. Garius...the Guardian, both are too dangerous. If they win, we'll be running not only from Neverwinter and Luskan but the King of Shadows as well." He began disrobing, still thinking aloud. "Plus, I have to keep an eye on that sorceress. She's dangerous and I seem to be the only one who realizes it."

Sand desperately wished he could simply up and disappear with Torio. But he felt a definite but reluctant bond of loyalty to the Knight Captain and all those at the Keep. They had gone through so much together; it would be horribly selfish of him to abandon them all to their fates, as irritating as they were. He fingered the returned deeds, thinking of the single half-elf barkeeper in his tavern. He wouldn't even be able to begin to spell away everyone he knew and cared about. Oddly, being with Torio had made him realize that his own sense of self-preservation was changing; had he not saved her at the risk of his own life?

And had she not returned to save him, at the risk of hers?

Sand sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Things aren't quite so dangerous now. Let's revisit this topic when the situation takes a turn for the worse."

Torio's mouth twisted in a resigned half smile as she gazed around Sand's room again, undoing the robes that clung to her...rather comfortably, she thought; it was something of an advantage with Sand being nearly the same size as her. "You mean worse than what's already happened?" she asked blithely. She realized with a slight hopelessness that Sand was well past the point where he'd honestly consider running from the entire situation and she knew that if Sand stayed, she'd stay as well. There was no questioning her voluntarily leaving his side ever again.

"Well. I hope you're simply aware that you're rather stuck with me." She pushed Sand back onto the bed lightly, her eyes roving over his familiar form once again; she crawled over him, pressing her mouth against his firmly, tasting traces of fruit and custard, bitter tea, the sweet, heady taste of confection sugar..."Oh gods," she murmured against his mouth, "You taste like a sticky bun..."

_This__could be__interesting._

She reached for the edge of her robes where they hay half discarded against the side of the bed. She pulled something from them, and then rather firmly began drawing his arms up over his head, pushing his lips apart with her tongue, probing his mouth with a languid, slow deliberation.

She had no spells that she could cast; her small, delicate human fingers would have to do all the work manually. So when she drew the roped belt up Sand's arms and began wrapping it around his wrists and the headboard, she said, silkily, "Try not to wriggle, _bodaes_; at least, not right away."

"Oh my gods..." Sand was instantly engorged as she finished tying the knots, a shiver tickling his spine. If she had tried this months...even weeks... earlier, he might have quailed at the thought of letting her take control of his body like this. But now he found himself looking quite eagerly forward to what she would do to him. He was now extraordinarily certain she wasn't going to kill him. He tested the bonds; they held fast without cutting into his circulation too much. "You have experience with this, dear girl?"

His body lay stretched out on the bed and he was incredibly aware of how exposed he was. No free hands to cover himself, no free hands to fend her off. He would have to trust her entirely in this. "And plans do you have for me, Helkaer?"

Torio laughed throatily, tugging once on the ropes...they held firm, and she could even see the lean muscles bunching along Sand's arms as he pulled against them as well. "Oh, a proper villain does not lend her prisoners an exposition, viper." She let her fingers wander down the side of his body, caressing his skin, tracing down to his ankle. It was strange to be on the other end of this technique; Sand's eyes gleamed up at her, the long muscles in his chest and arms stretched taut, his body exposed in a long line against the bed. She used Sand's own sash to secure his ankle to the foot board, and then walked, her footsteps creaking lightly against the wooden floorboards, to the wardrobe, where she rummaged through the hanging robes for a long moment, picking over belts, sashes, stockings, scarves, humming almost jauntily to herself...

She returned, standing at the foot of the bed, her eyes staring at him as she fastened his remaining ankle, taking in his lithe body laid out before her. "How well can you cast spells tied up, bodaes?" she purred. "Not very well, I take it?" She turned and glanced around his room, eyeing the strange artifacts and objects lining the shelves, things whose purpose she couldn't begin to imagine...

She moved to his desk, turning her body so that it blocked his field of vision, so that he couldn't see what her hands pulled and moved around in his drawers. "Well, well, well...you seem to have collected quite a few odds and ends here, Sand," she murmured lowly, glancing over her shoulder at him; he was already hard, erect and waiting in the cool air of the room, and she felt her own body twitch with eagerness at the sight of him. "Comfortable, are we?"

Sand testing the bindings around his ankles. "All right, Torio, I see what game you're getting at." The sight of her naked bottom facing him as she rummaged through the drawers was almost more than he could bear. If only he could slip from the bed, and steal up behind her, pressing his hard manhood against her soft body. He tugged on the silk again and heard the wooden headboard creak slightly but he was definitely secure.

He wracked his mind, thinking what he had in there. It had been so long since he had sat at the desk. All he could think he had there were potions gone bad, parchment, quills, expended wands. He lifted his head, trying to get a peak, very aware of the throbbing erection that waited impatiently for her. "I would stick to the desk, dear girl. Some of the other items on the shelves may be dangerous..." His readiness and complete inability to do anything about it was maddening and he shifted about on the bed, trying to ease the swell of longing in his loins.

The bottle was sealed, when she found it. Curious, she glanced back at Sand's mildly struggling form once more before peeling the wax from around the cork and opening it; she sniffed carefully, a vague, sweet scent assailing her nostrils that was nearly imperceptible. The liquid was strangely clear, and when she tipped the bottle slightly into her hand, it came out thick, viscous...

_Oil_.

She nearly laughed, feeling suddenly giddy. She emptied a liberal amount into the palm of her hand and set the bottle down, rubbing her palms together and feeling the liquid spread thinly over her fingers. She turned back to the bed and climbed up over Sand's body, straddling him high on her knees, her hips inches above his. She stared down at him, watching his face as she slid her well-oiled hands up his torso and began rubbing her palms back and forth over his chest, making languorous, long strokes over his skin, up his arms, down across his stomach. "Well, we don't want dangerous, now do we? I think we've had our fill of dangerous for the moment." She bent her head to the long, slivered scar that ran across Sand's chest, the obvious mark of a whip, and pressed her mouth against it, kissing a trail across the white, slightly puckered skin, her lips and tongue pulling at his skin as her hands ran lower along his body, stroking the narrowing where his thighs met his hips, while coyly forgoing his erect shaft.

Sand tried speaking, commenting on her skillful hands and his appreciation of the gentle kneading - but all that came out was an unabashed groan. With each downward stroke, he could feel her working out all the tension that had built up in his body over the weeks. Her mouth was causing pinpricks sensation to come alive across his skin. He was literally melting into the mattress, his muscles relaxing...

All except one muscle of course, which remained so near and yet still so far from her. He lifted his hips as high as his capture would allow; closer but not quite. He twisted his hips to the side slightly, rubbing the head of the organ against her soft thighs and whimpering blissfully as the brushing touch lightened some of the tension.

Sand found himself staring up at her with a dazed, contented smile, his head lolling slightly drunkenly between his arms. He never would have guessed, from seeing her at the Trial and then at the Keep, that she had this warm, delightful side to her. "How did I end up with you? You're simply marvelous..."

Torio kissed his chest lightly, before moving lower along his body, chuckling quietly into his skin. "Marvelous is it? That's a far cry from 'harpy,' or 'traitor'...or 'Luskan devil', which, I think, is by far my favorite." She could feel his hardened member brushing up along her body as she moved farther down, along the flat planes of her stomach, between her breasts, against her collarbone; her fingers slid along his thighs, rubbing the flesh firmly. As cool as his body normally was, his skin was now heated, impossibly warm from her touch.

"But marvelous, I could get used to..." She blew lightly against his skin, watching goosebumps skitter across the moistened surface. "Tell me something else you think of me."

"Oh gods, please keep going..." He had no shame about begging her now. "I thought you liked it when I called you harpy. And you are a Luskan devil...for torturing me for information like this." His legs were shaking with the effort of holding as still as possible; every time he moved, her hand would slip or tighten its grip and send torrents of pleasure through him that he didn't think he would be capable of a coherent thought. "I love hearing you laugh. I could listen all day to it." He looked up at her, his dark hair a wild tangle around his head from his struggles. "I'm glad to hear you laugh again."

"You are so perfect for me. Gah...listen to me. You've reduced me to a sentimental moon elf..." His voice was laughing but the edges of it was colored with a thick lust and an unabated love. _Love_. He had worn the mantle of lover so easily and now that it was replaced with that of love, he found it entirely different and yet not unpleasant whatsoever. "A'maelamin..."

Torio sighed imperceptibly against his skin, a bolt of sheer, wanton longing shooting through her at the sound of his voice. They had danced around it in the beginning, the taunts, the insults, all still flying freely even when they coupled, both unable to give even the slightest ground to the other. Always a battle, a tug of war; some nights one would come out on top over the other (sometimes quite literally), but it would begin again the next night as soon as they were alone.

And then it had changed, ever so slightly: from sniping at each other to sniping at the others living in the Keep, their conjoined laughter nearly giving them away some nights as they lay inches from each other, whispering with delighted disdain and good-natured antagonism, their targets the other sleeping bodies that filled the Keep's rooms around them.

And now...

She released her grip on him, letting her hands slide down his thighs, her fingers pressing firmly along his flesh, rubbing the oil into his skin. "_Melamin_," she whispered to him raggedly, "You're shaking."

Torio drew her fingers up the insides of his thighs; she could feel his muscles twitching, shaking, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. She loved the feeling of him stretched helpless, the longing in his voice, knowing it was her that caused it; she had wanted to crack his poised and somewhat disdainful exterior so long ago, wanted to see him disheveled, undone, wrapped writhing around her finger...

"Talk to me," she said softly, rubbing her lips lightly against his skin. "I want to hear your voice. Say something to me in elvish."

It was as though her request burst a dam inside of him; a long steady torrent of words were ready on his tongue before he knew it. "Mela en' coiamin..." _Love__of__my__life..._

He let his imagination and words run as wild as the shooting sensations through him. Somewhere along the way, stopping Garius had gone from a way to embarrass Luskan, to being forced to help, to ensuring his own survival to now - where not only did his own survival matter, but also of those around him. There was so much he still wanted and needed to do with her and the idea that the sand in the hourglass was steadily trickling away drove a keen edge of desperation through him on some days. "Amin baer tysi sosti shor lle." _I__need__more__time__with__you_...

His voice cried out with untempered passion, no need to be muffled or quiet with no snooping, gossipy people of the Keep surrounding them. "_Amin mela lle_...oh gods, Torio, I love you so much...I'm so close. Let me go... Thi amin..." _Free__me_...

Torio felt her own body trembling, her own desires thrumming through her as she drew him in and out of her mouth. She moaned against him, inhaling raggedly as her lips sucked and stroked his length, his words shooting straight through her middle, running over her skin like a physical caress, her body tightening and shuddering at the sound of his voice, the words he was speaking. "Oh gods," she murmured, pulling away from his body for a moment. She was tempted, for half a second, tempted to feel his hands on her, his body pumping between her legs, his mouth on hers...

_But,fairwasfair._

So in a silky parody of his own words from months earlier, she lowered her face again, shaking her head. "No, bodaes." She pulled at him even harder, pulling him in as far as she could take him, her tongue working against him even as she felt his body beginning to tremble in earnest underneath her.

The harder he tried resisting the cresting climax, the harder it became until he felt her taking him into the back of her throat, her mouth utterly consuming him. He let out a strangled moan, his whole body arching as high as it could while every muscle tensed and then shuddered. The coiled stricture suddenly burst and he gasped at the sheer ecstasy of it, feeling the white hot bliss explode all around him. until he lay beneath her, completely unable to move or think anything except one thought.

_Torio_.

Torio took in his quivering body, his eyes shut, head rolled back against the pillow while the muscles along his arms bunched and relaxed, pulled taut next to his face, his chest rising and falling unsteadily, a light sheen glowing along his skin from the oil that still lightly covered his skin.

By gods, but the sight of him, beautiful and powerful and helpless, nearly drew release from her by itself, without him having touched her once. She reached with shaking fingers and undid the bindings around his ankles, then moved up his body, pressing herself down against him, shivering slightly as the hot, sated center of him pressed between her legs. She carefully untied his arms, feeling his body fall against the bed as his wrists were released, the belt sliding from around them and falling to the mattress.

"You're free, _a'mael._"

Sand slowly lowered his arms and wrapped them gingerly around her. They tingled slightly where the silk bindings had tugged at his skin. He pressed his forehead against hers, waiting for his heart to slow and his skin to cool. "Torio - I will never be free again. I think I am rather irrevocably bound to you." By the gods, but wasn't that true in every sense? Whether he wanted it or not, so long as he had conscious thought, they would always turn to her. She had pervaded and permeated his being, inching her way along stealthily until he couldn't bear the thought of living without her.

A quiet nagging voice flitted across his thoughts... _But__you__will,__one__day__Sand...she's__human..._

Torio couldn't help the low, delighted laugh that rolled from her throat, her hips pushing forward against him slightly, eager for his searching fingers. "Bound to me, is it? Well, if you want to be irrevocably bound, _bodaes_, I'm sure I can oblige you." She kissed him hungrily, moaning softly as his body brushed against hers, his skin incredibly soft and smooth and warm from the oil, sliding along hers without any impedance. "Although we'll have to get a stronger headboard, I suppose."

_We_. It came out easily enough; the line between them was blurred to almost non-existence. It was no longer she and he, Torio and Sand...it was both of them, together. She remembered the empty, incomplete feeling that had plagued her through Elysium; even when surrounded by the heavens, an eternity of heavenly bliss and peaceful contentment stretching before her, she had known something completely vital was missing.

Contentment wasn't enough. She realized that now, now that she had touched what only most poets and bards could place into coherent words, the kind of love that broke her and remade her again, and thus ensured that she would never be whole again without it; there would be no settling for something lesser. Good enough would never satisfy her.

The thought terrified her..._it__exhilarated__her._

"Tell me we don't have to leave the bed again, ever, and I'll be the happiest woman alive."

Sand curled up beside Torio, draping his arm across her chest. "Yes, dear girl, we'll just hide in my shop forever, in bed. I'm sure nobody will come looking for us and Garius will bypass us entirely..." He burrowed his face into her neck, his voice muffled but content. "I'll find a spell to spell us and the bed somewhere since that's apparently all we need to be happy. Mmm lovemaking, Torio and magic. My favorite combination."

Torio snorted at him lightly; the blankets were twisted beneath them, and it took some wriggling to get them straightened, but soon she was pulling them up over both of their bodies, her moistened skin cooling rapidly in the night air. "Ha! You talk grandly, wizard...I don't suppose you could fake illness until your beloved Captain marched against Garius? A devastating, bed-confining illness, and while everyone's gone traipsing around the countryside? I will, grudgingly of course, come and check on the poor beleaguered elf..." Actually, she could probably make it work, if she hadn't suspected that Kana or even the Knight Captain might drag Sand out by his ear and force him out with the others regardless of a terrible illness.

Her eyes were falling shut in drowsiness, but she fought to keep them open. His words, half-moaned from his throat... _I__need__more__time__with__you.._.were nibbling disconcertingly at the edges of her thoughts. Sand blithely spoke of spending their remaining years together...but she knew it wasn't her that was going to ultimately suffer if they continued on this path. She would be dead, gone, while Sand continued onwards, and the slight edge of desperation that had tinged his words only momentarily as he had spoken them sat glaringly in her mind.

_And__what__are__you__going__to__do,__Torio,__leave__him?_ That option, however brief it had been an option, was long disappeared. It would be easier for her to remove a limb.

Her eyes fell shut, her fingers toying lazily with the strands of his hair. "Well, _bodaes..._more time, is it? I suppose I'll just have to learn to cheat death," she murmured sleepily, giving voice to the tail end of her thoughts.

"I promise you we'll never be parted, even in death. I'll...I'll find a spell..." Sand would track down and find ever necromancer, every lich on Abeir-Toril if he had to. "There's always a way, somehow. We just have to clever about it." He closed his eyes and squeezed her tightly.

"Mmmm.." She sighed quietly. "A spell for everything, is it?" She didn't say it, but she wondered...she knew Sand was powerful; no one who had been on that ship when she had been wished away in the blink of an eye could doubt it, but...there were limits on even him. "Well, if anyone can figure it out that anyone will be us...but no rituals invoking ancient Illefarn Guardians, or I really will draw and quarter you..."

And with that affectionately voiced threat, she fell asleep, her face resting peacefully against Sand's shoulder.


	46. Chapter 46

**Volume 3, Chapter 46 - A Gentler Way**

Sand woke to the sounds of cursing sailors and he smiled for it. Better waking to that familiar sound than the sound of an alarm being raised, or an orc about to cleave his head off. The day was muggy; he could feel the humidity and the stickiness on his skin.

_Mind you, that could just be the oil..._

His face broke into a huge grin as he remembered the night before. He stretched and then gently shook Torio awake. "Wake up, _melamin. _We have dressed to pick up, barkeeps to visit and lords to see..."

Torio made a muffled noise of protest before lifting her head, her short fringe of hair sticking up in small clumps as she ran her hand through it. She felt warm and utterly comfortable...and slightly sticky, but that was no nevermind when she was enveloped against Sand's body.

A seagull screamed inordinately close to the window as it flew by, and she winced. "The spells run out today, don't they? How much time do we have?" She kissed Sand swiftly and slipped onto the floor, wobbling slightly on her feet as she stretched. Sweet Deneir, she felt wonderful; her entire body was relaxed and warm, and...

_Lords to see…_

The warmth was instantly gone. _And she with a bounty on her head, still_. This was going to be a delightful morning.

"We have a bit of time yet but...we should hurry, my dear. I'd rather have us both safely tucked away within Castle Never's walls when they do run out." Sand quickly bathed and dressed in the finest robes he had in the wardrobe. "We'll get the dresses on the way to the Castle I suppose. No need for me to be Polymorphed today but you - definitely yes. We don't need a riot on the street." He kissed her lips as he pulled his hair back over his ears. Her brows were slightly furrowed, the corners of her eyes creased with worry.

He paused. "I won't let anything happen to you." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, a staunch vow. "Besides, somebody needs to wear those expensive dresses we just bought and I just don't think Neeshka has the right figure for them."

Sand kissed her again. "I'm going to see Duncan while you bathe... Maybe I'll return the favor and slip some of that laxative into his morning ale..."

Torio smirked at Sand wryly as she turned to make her way to the bathing room. "Well, I suppose ensuring my continued survival for the sake of fitting into expensive gowns is a noble cause. And don't be too hard on the barkeep...he _did _return ownership of your shop to you, after all." She couldn't keep the sly smile from her words. "Wouldn't it have been awkward to be working for the man...just like that sorceress did, isn't that true?" She glanced back at Sand as she turned out the door, her brows arched wryly. "I think you would have made quite a spectacular barmaid, _bodaes_."

She bathed quickly, hearing Sand moving down the stairs right outside the door, and then the front door to the shop opening and closing. Her fingers sifted through her hair, washing oil and the results of their lovemaking away...she realized how long it had gotten since she had first been captured by Neverwinter. For years, she had grown into a habit of cutting her hair close to her head, but since being made prisoner months ago it had grown until the strands lightly brushed her cheeks and hung against the top of her neck, thick and full. She remembered that first day that Garius had "rescued" her, when her famously long and beautiful hair had been shorn from her head, the last reminder of her days as one of Nephila's women.

She shuddered slightly at the memory. She slipped from the tub, drying her short, thick hair, and resolved to find some way to trim it occasionally, to keep the brown locks above her shoulders, at least until Garius was dead and destroyed...or they were. _Excuse me, Lieutenant Kana, might I borrow your sword? I prefer not to look like the courtesan I once was._

_A rather inane thing to be worried about on the day you face Lord Nasher, Torio. Besides, you know that a comment on your method of dress would be forthcoming as soon as you mention looking like a courtesan._

Towel-wrapped and towel-dried, she made her way back into Sand's room, and redressed into the robe she had worn the day before. She would only be wearing it for a short while, regardless..._and I'm rather fond of this belt, now, considering_. She thought of the dresses waiting for her and pressed her lips firmly together, trying not to smile to readily. Dresses and hairstyles. _And rising shadows, Garius, and a hangman's noose. _ They chased around through her head as she sat down at Sand's desk. She picked through a few of his scattered notes that lay haphazardly against the wooden desktop, and began to read, waiting for Sand.

* * *

Sand greeted the few customers in his shop, who all seemed to be surprised to see the elven merchant. "Just checking up on the shop...no, no, won't be here too much longer..." He slipped outside the door and crossed the familiar street. How many times had he made this short trip to go see the half-elf? At least once per day for over a decade it seemed. Perhaps even longer. He could almost see a well-trodden path, where the stones were worn smooth by his scuffing boots; he knew it was probably his imagination...

He pushed the door to the Flagon open, a blast of cheerful music assaulting his ears even at this time of the day. Duncan always had some upstart young bard in his tavern; some much better than other and Sand chuckled quietly to himself when he remembered the barkeep berating Grobnar for doing nothing but talk instead of sing.

"Well... am I here in time to deflect the usual barrage of slander and calumny from you, you one tankard drunk? Or has the damage already been done to my good name, Duncan?"

Duncan paused in mid-refill...he turned slowly, hiding the huge grin that had split his features with a bout of indignant throat clearing. "Ha! I'll say the damage has been done, t'was only last night I warned a couple in yer shop from lettin' ye pull one over on 'em with yer 'enchantin', ye charlatan."

He kept his manner offhanded, reaching behind him for a wine glass. "Get ye somethin'? Where have ye been, anyway? Hidin' out from the last poor soul ye tricked with yer incompetent spellcasting?" There was a slightly relieved edge to his voice as he spoke.

_By Tymora, it was good to see him._

Sand hopped on a barstool, his toes barely brushing the scratched wooden floors. "Well, as it seems you're already reaching for a wine glass - wine." The brunch crowd was in full swing, many cheery laughing voices. "The only thing incompetent about my spellcasting is that I haven't yet found a way to shut _you _up yet, Duncan. Sweet Mystra, I think that would take an act of the gods. As for where I've been... I've... been running errands all across Faerun for Nasher." Which technically wasn't a lie but by the gods, was it ever an understatement.

"I've been away from the Keep for nearly a month now; I haven't even had the chance to speak to the Knight-Captain or even Nevalle. News from that front?"

Duncan discreetly opened the wine cabinet behind him, and pulled an unopened bottle of Elderwine from its depths, discreetly pouring the glass and handing it to Sand. "Runnin' around fer Nasher, is it?" He examined Sand briefly as he corked the bottle again and set it aside. The elf was leaner, with a definite sharpening to the faint lines around his eyes, but there was...a strange, settled contentment that was completely foreign to Sand's disposition. The words were the same as ever, sharp and almost habitual, but Sand had definitely changed. He wondered, briefly, what Nasher was having the elf do...

Duncan snorted, pouring himself a glass of ale. "The news from the Keep hasn't changed much; the attacks on the southern farmlands 'ave gotten worse; we've lost half the northern swamplands now te whatever the 'ells the King of Shadows is doin' to 'em...It's riskin' yer life just tryin' te travel down to West Harbor and Highcliff, now, and Elanee still can't make contact with those...druids of hers." Duncan shook his head. "Ain't pretty, wizard, I'll tell ye that! Ye ain't comin' back to peace an' quiet, that's fer sure."

He sighed. "As fer Knight-Captain persn'ally, well...she's fine, I s'pect, workin' hard and slowly growing much too old fer her age. They're hard pressed, she most of all; I'd not give 'em too much te worry about, whatever ye've been doin' the past weeks. If it ain't good news, I'd keep it to yerself fer now."

Sand took a long, satisfying drink of the wine. _A hint of elderberry... _He swirled the wine glass as was his habit when thinking. "Are you saying my return to the glorious Keep won't be construed as good news? Hrrmph." He wondered if announcing his informal engagement to Torio would be good news and he nearly choked on the wine. The only person he could see being happy would be Grobnar, which wasn't saying much since the gnome was happy eating whitethistle.

"Well, glad to see I didn't miss the epic war in my absence." His voice was dry. Sand cleared his throat and then put the deeds and titles to his property on the bar countertop. "Ah... Thank you for returning these... But maybe you should hang on to them, just in case... Probably safer with you than at the Keep. Several of my items have gone missing recently and I suspect the demon-girl." After these past few weeks, and with the upcoming war, Sand's optimism for survival had waned slightly; he would never tell Torio of course but when the entirety of Faerun was trying to kill you and the people you traveled with... It was difficult to be anything but realistic.

Duncan snorted. "If ye want. But don't come complainin' te me if ye disappear again and I end up sellin' the damn thing. Yer little merchant elemental gives me the creeps."

He polished off his glass expertly, turning to refill it again. "As fer yer return, ye'll probably get a wagonload of questions tossed at ye more'n anythin'. Nevalle hadn't spoken a word on anything about where ye went when I left 'em last, only that Nasher called away you and that Luskan har-" Duncan paused and swiveled around, eyeing Sand curiously. "Say, where is that Claven woman, anyway? Ye did get sent to Castle Never with her, didn't ye?"

"Well questions I can handle, especially if the answer is 'I can't tell you'." Sand took another sip of the wine; Torio would be jealous if she knew! "Torio is currently at my shop, hiding until it's time for us to report to Nasher. Can you imagine if I paraded her through the streets?" The elf pushed the empty wine glass towards Duncan. "Why? Did you want to meet her?" He snickered lightly. "I promise you, her bark is worse than her bite now. There are oaths and enchantments which prevent her from harming anyone."

Duncan shook his head, grinning. "Speak te her? Ha! I hardly know how ye manage to stand the wench, what with that trial and what she tried te do te my niece." A prickly, protective note entered his voice as he took a long pull from his glass. "But o' course, ye sharp eared viper, ye always did seem right at home with snakes; I just hope Nasher doesn't end up regrettin' he kept her alive. No good's goin' te come from it, I'll tell ye that!"

Sand gave the half-elf a smirk. "Oh, no worries. As a punishment somewhat befitting the crime, Torio Claven has been put under my control at the Keep. Like any whipped dog, she just needs to be shown a kind hand. She's Luskan-bred; they never have an easy time of anything. I'm sure she's learning of how we do things in Neverwinter"

_Except you seem to have given up all control of her, have you? And all she's probably learned lately is how best to get you naked in the least amount of time... _

It was all he could do to keep an impassive face. Well, he supposed, if him and Torio ever did get married, Duncan could probably be counted out as a witness to the ceremonies. Sand glanced over his shoulders and then leaned forward. "Nasher may be so kind as to teleport us home himself, but if he doesn't, the girl and I will be back. Or at least I'll be back. I need to restock my supply of illegally purchased wine." Kana frowned a little on his exorbitant budget for alcohol.

Duncan chuckled. "I wouldn't abuse that privilege too much, though; Nevalle knows about it, now, and he's promised to keep it a secret. I swear the man's starting to go a bit nutty in his head, everyone is." Duncan smirked at the elf. "Thank the gods ye've already half-cracked yer own head, ye two-copper charm peddler. Nothin' te lose, 'ey?"

Sand laughed, his eyes gleaming. "Who wouldn't be half-cracked in the head after drinking your home brewed ale, Duncan? There's a reason why I only drink your wines..." Sand tapped his fingers on the deeds again. "Keep it safe for me. I must go see Nasher; who knows, you may find yourself in ownership of my shop again by nightfall... Oh and just in case..." He slipped a small vial of ale purgatives from his pocket and left it on the countertop. "We must assure your survival for another fortnight, now, don't we?"

He turned and left the Sunken Flagon, his footsteps light on the cobblestone. Re-entering the shop, he took the stairs two at a time until he was once again in his bedroom. "Almost ready, dear girl? We mustn't keep our dear lord Nasher waiting... and you have gowns to pick up..."

Torio looked up from the sheaves of parchment spread before her; Sand didn't keep a journal, but he kept the most detailed notes she had ever seen, all written in his meticulous handwriting. She had learned more about _Fireball_ in the last short stretch of time than she had ever thought possible in her life; who knew that a person's body could _dissolve_ like that?

She stood and stretched, brushing down the robes she wore as if she were smoothing down a skirt she wasn't wearing yet. Her heart thumped unnaturally loud as she spread her arms wide. "Well? We can't keep 'Misae' waiting for her gowns much longer." Her voice was light, teasing, but she could feel the nervous anxiety sinking into the pit of her stomach like a dead weight. She remembered the last time she had felt like such...

_Being marched into the Castle Never, her arms shackled in front of her, waiting to hear the Knight-Captain's decision on whether or not she should live or die..._

Wordlessly, Sand stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her small waist, kissing her desperately. It was like the kiss at the top of the stairs the day Vale had arrived and started this crazy adventure; his heart pounding, he knew that this could be the last time he kissed her as Torio and he sought to imprint her taste, smell and touch into his mind for all eternity.

He stepped back finally, breathing hard. "Very well, 'Misae'..." He was running low on cocoon silk; perhaps he could convince the druidess to collect some next time she was out talking to the trees or whatever it was she did in the woods. He cast the two spells and watched as the unnaturally curvaceous sun elf reappeared. "There is one more spell... the telepathy spell... it might be to our advantage...Or am I no longer privy to your deepest, darkest thoughts, Ambassador?"

Her fingers dropped reluctantly from where they had pressed against his chest, her lips tingling from his kiss. She blinked and tilted her head back to look up into the taller half-elf's eyes..._blue and brilliant_...

She remembered the constant comfort of his presence in her mind, a warm, somewhat prickly hum, the comfort of knowing she could simply reach out with her thoughts and he'd be there...

"Why wouldn't you be privvy to them, viper?" She said somewhat breathlessly. "They're all about you."

'Derrim' blushed, his red cheeks nearly matching his red hair. "I'm sure, dear girl. All good things I hope." He cast the _Telepathic Bond _spell again, severing the link he had had with Matthew and wrinkled his nose distastefully as the sensation that half his mind was floating about in the room...

...before her familiar presence was back in the back of his brain, like a warm blanket on a very cold, blustery winter day.

_Helkaer._

"Shall we go, then, Misae?"

They slipped from the shop...Torio fancied that the merchant elemental was watching them leave as they pushed through the door and out onto the street. She slipped her arm comfortably through Sand's almost out of habit, now, feeling his body pressed against her shoulder.

The walk between the Docks and the Merchants District seemed shorter now that she had paced the cobbles with her own feet; she recognized some faces in the streets from the day before, and was surprised when some of them nodded at her. No one approached them, however, and soon they were dodging through the midday throngs in the Merchant District, having to practically walk single file through the press of laughing, talking, bartering bodies until they found the dress shop from the day before.

The woman that had waited on them the day before seemed to have been expecting them as they walked in; "Ah, you're here! Wonderful timing, we closed off the last stitch an hour ago." She gestured for them to follow, leading them back into the small changing alcove.

The dresses were lain out for their inspection; cut dangerously revealing, fabrics layered and shimmered over one another, in a multi-hue of colors and different styles. The elven woman smiled at Torio's expression. "Would the lady like to try them on?"

Torio glanced coyly at Sand. "I can try them all on at a... later time. At the moment we're rather pressed; can you point me to a changing room? I'll be wearing that one." She gestured to the thickly velveted gown cut from the fabric that had caught her eye the night before, a rich, dove gray that shimmered with darker, smoky depths as the fabric caught the light. The elven woman picked it up, and gestured for Torio to follow her, while snapping a sharp order to one of the hunch-shouldered human boys that seemed to hover at the edge of the shop; he ran forward and began packaging up the other gowns into large, finely sewn sackcloth bag.

And then, five minutes later, Torio walked back out into the alcove, rich, luxurious fabric hugging her skin for the first time in weeks.

Sand nearly swallowed his tongue when she emerged. He had gotten used to seeing her in his baggy robes, in the threadbare servant's girl outfit, naked... but the sight of her in a dress that hinted at flesh, teased the eyes with what it would reveal and what it would hide, flirtatiously shifted and shimmered so that a bare calf would give way to a disclosed thigh...

He was rather glad his robes hid the painfully quick arousal.

_He would never _**_ever _**_make fun of her clothes again_.

Sand took her hand and twirled her so that the dress could scintillate in the sunlight. "Well, my dear Misae. I must say - I am quite pleased." He took the bag from the boy and slipped him a gold coin, before turning to the seamstress. "Very impressive and quick work. We'll be sure to recommend you to our friends."

They exited the shop and Sand began leading her slowly towards the Blacklake District. "There's something amusing about going to see Nasher with shopping bags in hand..."

Torio laughed...a pleased, nearly giddy flush had spread through her as they left the shop. "Are you a wizard or not? I suppose I'm getting used to everything being solved by magic, as well..." She reached out, running a finger against the crumpled edge of the sackcloth bag squeezed between Sand's fingers. "We'll simply say they're supplies." She fingered the low neckline of the gown, rubbing the soft fabric between her fingers lovingly. "Desperately needed supplies."

Fortified by an expensive gown that should have made her feel more exposed than she actually was, they entered Blacklake and turned their steps up towards Castle Never. The guards outside the gate seemed rather tense both of them watching her and Sand approach as if they brought dire news of their impending demotions with them. _Who knows? We very well might._

"Can I help you? The Castle is currently not accepting uninvited visitors..." There was a commotion behind them in the crowds, and two heavily panting acolytes drew up behind them.

"Let us in! We must speak with Master Vale!"

Sand whirled around, letting the two young mages past him. "Let us in! We're from the Cloaktower." The guards firmly shook their heads. "We are on very strict ord-" The shorter of the two acolytes burst out, "It's about our agents! _You know_." Sand suddenly got the distinct impression they were referring to him and Torio. He tugged on the sleeve of the mage. "Sand? I have a message from him..."

The wizard spun around quickly, his expression startled, "Then you must come with us! Let us in, or by the gods..." But the guards were already opening the gates and ushering the four of them through. A pair of guards on the other side took up position on either side of the small group, escorting them firmly up to the Castle and through the front doors.

Vale was already running down the polished corridors towards him and Sand saw the mage glance at him and then do a bit of a double take, his expression undecipherable. He gestured to a side chamber, "All of you, in there now."

Sand tightened his grip on Torio's hand and followed the other three. The two acolytes were already babbling excitedly, "Scrying spell picked up traces of the elf this morning in the Docks region; Claven is with him but her bracelet's been deactivated... They've disappeared again but we've sent somebody to get an item of clothing of theirs so we can track them even if they are cloaked..."

Vale took in the information without blinking. "You all have done well. You are to be commended. But your orders are to be changed; you may stop the scrying spell now. We will send agents to get the wizard and the former ambassador; they have made their presence known in Neverwinter. They must want to be found. Please, get back to work." His eyes flicked over to the couple sitting in front of him as the two acolytes bowed humbly and left the room. "I don't know why I never noticed before, but you drip magic, Sand."

Torio's insides churned as she watched the elf lift his hands, gesture, and a strange, shimmering feeling wash over her once again...

Short brown hair brushed her cheeks. Sand sat next to her, dark haired and elven and utterly himself. Vale has dispelled the polymorph.

He watched them now, narrowly, his face completely unreadable. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," Torio interjected coolly, before Sand could speak. "We took enough time to ensure that we were safe, that we hadn't been followed, before we tried contacting you. As it was, our escape was rather..."

"Bloody?" Vale folded his arms into his sleeves. "A member of the Luskan aristocracy lies dead; a prominent Hosttower outpost has been lain to rubble; every spy that had any contact with you whatsoever had to abandon their posts and evacuate the city." Vale's eyes watched the two before him. "For a successful mission, you both still managed to fail rather spectacularly."

Sand's inside roiled in anger until…

"They evacuated? They're alive? Oh thank the gods..." The immense guilt he didn't even realize was pressing down on his shoulders was suddenly lifted and he exhaled forcibly.

"And yet, for a failure, every Neverwinter agent is still alive and the goal was achieved..." He arched an eyebrow at Vale. "What does Neverwinter care for Luskan nobility and the Hosttower? I say any day we can disrupt their plans and embarrass them, the better."

Vale folded his slender arms over his chest. "It concerns Neverwinter when their ambassador is calling for both your heads for Luskan low justice. There's a bounty out for Torio, for trespassing and treason. And you - Sand - are wanted for the murder of a prominent noblewoman and member of the Hosttower. I do not think Luskan will find it believable if we made _you _a squire_. _That ploy will probably only work once." He gave a curt nod in Torio's direction. "I certainly do hope your tale will be convincing to Lord Nasher that risking the peace treaty with Luskan is worth the both of you."

Torio was beginning to lose her patience; the very fact that her fate rested in the hands of cities, of lord and noblemen, low justice or high...not now, when she suddenly had so much to live for, to be free for. Bounties, spells, bracelets, geas, prisons...she was tired of it all.

"May I remind you that we never _volunteered_ for this mission," she said acidly, her eyes narrowed to near slits. "Surely you must know that a tool will only perform as well as its master or was Lord Nasher rather hoping we would both be conveniently removed from the picture? Two birds with one stone...the map and the removal of two former Luskans from his precious Crossroad Keep?"

Vale never showed any outward signs of irritation, but his voice had gone a pitch slightly higher. "_Former_ Ambassador Claven," he said slowly, "You are in no position to..."

"And Sand isn't?" She said sharply. "He came to you, to Neverwinter, for protection - in exchange for his services, as I recall. Well, he's rendered his services, at the risk of his own life. Might I suggest you hold up your end of it, Mage of the Cloaktower, and protect him?"

Vale fell silent for a moment. "From what I can gather, Sand is quite capable of protecting himself. And others as well." His head tilted imperceptibly in Torio's direction. "We were unable to find you for many days... A most curious turn of events. Especially considering the rumors coming from Luskan these days..." His eyes landed on Sand. "It takes a powerful mage to send somebody away to the Planes, wizard..."

Vale suddenly seemed to make up his mind. "Follow me. We will meet with Lord Nasher and you will recount to him what has happened since you were last in contact with the agents from Neverwinter. We have methods for ensuring you tell the truth, so be warned."

The elf stood and left the room and Sand nodded at Torio. _They won't torture us. I promise you. _He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and then followed the other wizard down the corridors, up winding staircases until they stood before a large, ornate doorway. Vale entered and Sand saw a large, formal sitting area. Scribes were already set up at the table; a few empty chairs stood at the end.

But the most curious item in the room was a large, white candle. Vale gestured for both him and Torio to sit in front of the candle. "This is a Candle of Truth. You will be unable to deceive us so long as the candle burns and you are within the room."

Torio's eyes flickered to the scribes, waiting patiently with quill and parchment in the shadows, and then back to Sand's face.

_A gentler way to do it, Bodaes...I suppose it's better than pure Hemlock._ Even in her thoughts, her voice was bitter, and she settled down on her chair, smoothing the skirts over her legs and folding her hands against her lap.

Vale moved from their field of vision for a moment, and whispered conversations were held briefly between the elven mage and the scribes. A single set of footsteps could be heard leaving the room, and then Vale returned before them. "Sand," he said quietly, "Tell me, if you will, what happened to you the moment you and Torio Claven were placed on a particular ship, the ship that our spies handpicked for your return to Neverwinter."


	47. Chapter 47

**Volume 3, Chapter 47 - Discretion Between Storytellers**

The first part of the story was easy enough. Sand kept it brisk and horribly impersonal but Vale didn't appear to care so long as the official details were all there. He was just getting to the part where the canonball first had smashed into the Captain's Quarters when the door opened and Lord Nasher entered.

Quickly everyone stood but the Lord waved them back down. "Continue your story, Sand."

The elf nodded, his throat dry. He described the battle from his point of view until...

He could almost feel her terror again...the wordless, indescribably agony, the panic, the mindnumbing fear. "We had been telepathically linked. When they hurt her, it was as though they had stabbed me too..." He risked a glanced at Nasher, who was looking at him with an offhand interest. "That's when I sent her away to Elysium by means of a spell and I was captured myself..."

He helped himself to the goblet of water that had been provided. "I was captured, geased and sold into servitude in Luskan..." Sand could hear the steady scratching of the quills on the parchment; the candle before him was burning so brightly it was surreal. He held his palm up to the flame, curious, and was amazed to feel a cool flame burning.

"I belonged to a girl, Nivarra..."

It was slightly disturbing, hearing Sand speak of the traumatic, chaotic battle aboard Abelor's ship with a cool professionalism, his voice rarely betraying the sparks of emotion, weariness, pain that Torio had heard when he had retold it all over sweet buns in a tea house. She wished he would speak the way he had spoken to her; emotion might serve them, since there was no way they would think either of them could be lying.

Torio glanced at Nasher; he was watching Sand carefully, and she remembered the Lord's cool, impersonal voice as he had informed them, so long ago, that they were expendable if their mission failed.

_… __emotions wouldn't help them after all._

She listened as Sand began detailing his servitude in Luskan. Her fingernails dug hard into the palms of her hands; even though she had heard it all already, the thought of Sand and Nivarra still sent shooting pangs of raw, ugly jealousy through her veins. She had owned him, and even though the woman was dead and gone, it was difficult to erase what she had done to Sand...and inadvertently, to her.

So it was with a steely expression that she sat, staring into the candle flame, watching Sand's mouth move from the corner of her eye as he spoke of his days as a slave.

Sand was suddenly very thankful for the Candle of Truth in the room as he began detailing the events of the trial. Suddenly retelling it to stoic faces, aloof scribes and politicians in the light of day made it all so unbelievable. "If you check with the Luskan magistrates, you will find I am telling the truth here about serving as counsel for Dornan... obviously they won't have it in the official records that I had intended to lose..."

He couldn't wait until he got to the part about the Nightbringer; he remained evasive about Mephasm. Sand thought he saw Vale's eyes widen slightly as he explained the ritual... Of course the mage would understand the implications. "...But unfortunately Nivarra at that moment decided I'd made a good sheath for her dagger..." His voice cracked slightly. "Torio appeared out of nowhere and... and killed her to save me..."

Sand paused and then said dryly, "Lord Nasher, those oaths you made us take are more powerful than you originally anticipated it seems." He took another drink of the goblet and glanced at Torio. "Perhaps Torio can tell her portion of the tale now and we can finish it off together."

Torio felt a general shifting in the room as a handful of eyes all turned to look at her through the relative dimness.

Nasher's eyes were unusually keen as she began speaking of Elyisum; the monks of Pelor that had healed her, saved her life, and set her on the path that would eventually lead her back to Toril. She described the lupinal pack that had accepted her into its fold, the rising threat of the devils from Baator, Prince Talisid's army and her place within it. She knew her tales sounded completely fantastical; if it wasn't for the candle burning steadily in front of her, she knew that the cries of disbelief would be loud and angry, especially considering her talent for deceit.

There were some things she left out; the interlude with Saeldur, the nights around campfires, laughing and sharing stories with the lupinals that had adopted her. And Mephasm. She described the sword she had found in Geryon's tent, and how it had enabled her to banish the devil back down into the hells. How it had won the battle for the leonal prince, and how, in return for her help, he had sent her back to Toril. _Back home._

"It was a small coincidence that I met up with Abelor as soon as I returned; he was grounded in Port Llast, his ship sunk and lost beneath the Sea of Swords. He had no clue to where Sand had been taken, only that the Luskans had recaptured him. So, they agreed to smuggle me back into the city." Her voice was wry, the first note of emotion in her voice since she started speaking. "I assumed it would be in more than poor taste if I returned to Neverwinter without him, especially when my only alibi in my defense was that I was spelled to the Blessed Fields of Elysium the entire time, and had no hand in his capture."

She went on to describe meeting with the Moonstars, her role in the trial, their plan to release Sand from captivity in exchange for her aid. "They snuck me into the manor under the guise of a servant, and that, I suppose, is where we pick up again. I found the woman and Sand, right as the ritual was completed, and the Nightbringer attempted to slay him."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Sand's eyes were laughing wryly, "Attempted? I have no doubt she would have succeeded if it had not been for Torio." He found he couldn't keep the warmth and affection from his voice. Sand described the Moonstars helping then escape through the portal to their headquarters ("...which...in case you are wondering...we have no idea where it is located...") and then how he had teleported them back to his shop in Neverwinter, the safest place he could think of.

"We hid for two nights just in case the Luskans were still on our trail somehow. I set up wards and anti-divination spells all around the shop, which probably explains your lack of ability to find us. The rest of the time we spent polymorphed..." He shrugged. "And...now we're here."

Nasher and Vale both simultaneously looked at each other and then at the scribes, waiting until the final word had been written down. Without a word, the writers stood and left the room, leaving the four of them and the candle, still burning.

Nasher folded his hands in front of him, staring first at Sand and then Torio. "I am correct in assuming that Vale has brought you up to speed on the current situation with Luskan?"

Sand nodded, "Yes my Lord. But in our defense, we did accomplish our mission albeit -"

"Silence, Sand." The human raised his hands. "I know what you have done. But what shall I tell Sydney Natale? Torio? Suggestions? I will not hand over any one of my agents to Luskan if I can help it but you must give me the tools to fight the extradition."

Torio steepled her fingers against her mouth for a moment, thinking. "The Moonstars had intelligence that the Harbor Master that pursued us, Drakken, had a habit of illegally selling captured prisoners as slaves rather than turn them over for proper Luskan justice." She snorted. "However proper it may be. Regardless, I believe you'll find that Drakken will be in some state of discredit, at the moment; his ship was...ah...commandeered from him." Torio couldn't help the smug smile that twitched across her face. "A Harbor Master who can't keep tabs on his own vessel, and who sells people into slavery without letting the Courts decide their guilt or innocence beforehand ...well, I'm sure Sydney Natale will be hard pressed to validate the legality of Sand's captivity to begin with."

She stood, and began pacing; she still wore the flat, soft-soled shoes of her servant's garb, but the long, sinuous dress covered her feet as she walked, her steps hardly making a sound against the floor. "Considering, then, that the legality of Sand's captivity can readily be called into question, it becomes quite obvious that Nivarra, and the Hosttower by association, was holding a citizen of Neverwinter unlawfully and against their will. Sand's escape was the ramifications of these actions; self defense, of course. And Nivarra and her father were no more than common criminals; her father, is already rotting on a galley somewhere, and the girl herself is dead."

She spun to face them. "As for me...well, the bounty on my head stems from Drakken's pursuit of our vessel, as well. But Syndey can caterwhaul for me all she wants, screaming low and high justice to the heavens." Her voice was thick with disdain. "It's nonsensical to charge a personage with treason when they were so readily handed over to Neverwinter for low justice. I am a prisoner, and I am still serving my sentence; there is little about my acts that she can claim as treasonous, when Luskan itself severed its connection with me long ago."

Lord Nasher nodded. "Very well, we will use those arguments against Natale. Clever, Torio. She is currently seeking to curry the Knight Captain's favor in any case; in exchange for her dropping the charges and her silence on the matter, I will grant her permission to visit Crossroad Keep. What harm can she possibly do there?"

Sand gave a relieved nod, finally realizing that he wasn't about to be handed over and back to Luskan. "My Lord, I shall keep an eye on Natale while she is at the Keep. I'm already in charge of one Luskan ambassador, what's another?"

He glanced at Torio. _Don't worry, dear girl. I hear she's quite atrocious looking..._

Nasher had continued speaking to Torio. "Do you still feel like a prisoner, Torio? I notice the bracelet is gone... and yet you still willingly came back to Neverwinter when it is now clear the both of you could have escaped and none of us would have been the wiser." The Lord glanced at Vale. "How long will it take to replace it?"

Sand jumped from his seat. "I protest my Lord! Torio Claven has proven her trustworthiness... I... won't let you put the bracelet back on her. It's a cruel device..." He swallowed nervously but stood firm, edging himself between Nasher and Torio.

Torio felt a flush of ridiculous pleasure at Sand's quick defense of her. _What's next, dear Sand, platemail and a noble steed?_ But her thoughts were colored with a desperate gratitude, a rush of warmth. She lifted her chin as she looked across the room to meet Nasher's eyes.

"I returned of my own volition," she said quietly, but there was a sharp steeliness in her words. "Regardless of the initial circumstances that brought me here, my _Lord_, there is much that I could do to aide your young Knight Captains...and I will do so." She placed her delicately boned hands on her hips. "But I will not be subjected to enchantments and torture ever again. I have returned one of your own agents to you; we have fulfilled a dangerous and nearly life-threatening mission." Her voice was taking on a nearly desperate tinge. "For god's sakes, is this how Neverwinter repays loyalty?"

Vale was watching her closely; the elf's pale eyes were gleaming quietly by the light of the Candle of Truth, trained on her as sharp as a knife's point. The elf turned, and looked to Nasher. "My Lord? If you so order it, we can create another bracelet for Ambassador Claven within the hour." His voice was even, steady, but there was a slight, questioning uplifting of his eyebrows.

Lord Nasher raised a single finger and Vale paused. The human lord studied the two agents before him for a long while, his mind working out consequences, ramifications... "Tell me, Sand, are the rumors from Luskan true?"

Sand reached out and in a bold move of quiet resistance and rebellion, took Torio's hand in his. "Yes, my Lord."

"And how long have the two of you been carrying on like this?"

He glanced at Torio, the red beginning to creep into his cheeks whenever he spoke openly about his relationship with her. He was so used to hiding, lying... and now to be admitting it openly to Nasher, the very man they were hiding from the most, the man who hung traitors and those who disobeyed him nearly on a whim? "Half a year."

"And does anyone suspect?"

Sand shook his head firmly. "No, my Lord. We have been very discreet. Though now that half of Luskan knows..."

Lord Nasher responded, his voice authoritative. "Until the war with the King of Shadows is over and you are released from service, I would suggest very strongly that the two of you remain discreet. Luskan rumors are Luskan rumors and hold no ounce of truth to them. They have been spread to undermine the efforts at Crossroad Keep, to distract us from the matter at hand, understood? We do not need people to question the veracity of the outcome of the Trial and the innocence of the Knight Captain."

He looked at Vale again, his gaze thoughtful and shrewd but he address Sand again. "And do you vouch for Torio Claven? Will you be legally responsible for her?"

Sand understood the question to mean "_If she betrays us, are you willing to be hanged alongside her?_" "Yes, my Lord."

Vale gave a small nod of understanding and Nasher turned back to face Torio. "Very well then Ambassador. You may remain free so long as the wizard here agrees to be responsible for you."

Torio's fingers where white-knuckled as she grasped Sand's hand; tiny bells of alarm were going off in her head, ingrained for so long to be secretive, politely and physically distant from Sand in front of others; now that she was holding his hand in front of both Nasher and Vale, her skin flushed with a prickling heat.

She released her grip slightly, her head suddenly swimming with the breath she had been holding. So she wasn't going to die...not yet, anyway. And, as she watched Nasher's glittering eyes move from between her and Sand, she realized he had quite effectively ensured her loyalty through a better means than any enchantment or torture; if she betrayed them, Sand would die.

Lord Nasher was not Lord of Neverwinter without reason.

She managed a tiny, uneven, "Thank you, my Lord," the defensive steeliness banished from her voice. "We'll be as...as discreet as humanely possible."

Vale's voice was dry with something almost akin to humor. "I have no doubt about that, Ambassador. Very well." The elf turned and half-bowed to the crowned human who stood next to him. "Shall I escort them back to the Keep, my Lord?"

Lord Nasher's face finally broke into a warm, almost grandfatherly smile. "I commend you both, on behalf of Neverwinter, for your efforts in assuring the continued safety of our city. The city may need your services again in the future and so we will deal with these Luskan charges. You both have had remarkable adventures but you may speak of none of it to anyone. If it does not immediately concern the King of Shadows then you must remain silent."

Nasher stood. "But you deserve a long rest and reward. Tell me, what boon would you seek for your service?"

Sand glanced at Torio, surprised. He remembered after the Trial by Combat, how Nasher had sent them all back to the Flagon to celebrate and how he had given Meaghan a magical amulet as well as all of Lorne's equipment. It seemed as though the human lord was still in a generous mood. "Diplomatic papers to Candlekeep, access to study the artifacts in the possession of the Cloaktower and the Academy..." Could he ask Nasher to condemn Qara to a lifetime of cleaning bar tables for Duncan? "Permission to travel Faerun with the Ambassador...and safe passage for Torio Claven away from Crossroad Keep should it fall or be threatened."

_We may get to try out those library tables at Candlekeep yet, dear girl._

Torio nearly laughed out loud at Sand's thoughts...she cleared her throat, and said, calmly, "You've released me from the spells that bound me, already; but there is..." here she faltered, her own thoughts laughing at her for what she was about to ask. "...something, that I would request, for when the King of Shadows is finally defeated."

Vale arched his eyebrows, but Nasher merely watched her, waiting.

"I would ask for pardon." The air seemed silent and thick; her voice was hard, unyielding, as if she were once again blandishing the crimes of Meaghan Farlong to the masses, her voice rife with conviction - except now, that conviction was pointed inwards and the crimes were all her own. "For everything."

Understanding seemed to flash through Vale's face. The elf examined Torio closely, his eyes flicking once to where the Candle of Truth still burned, as if disbelieving the words he was hearing. Slowly, he turned towards Nasher, his voice quiet. "You've offered it to Gend once, my lord, yet the man refused it, remember? And...Ambassador Claven...well, my lord, there is a spell that can be cast, if she so wishes it..."

Lord Nasher stared long and hard at the former Luskan ambassador before him. When she had first come to Neverwinter to be the representative, he had been initially pleased. Well-spoken, intelligent and a non-magic user; pretty as well - he had never trusted the mages sent by Luskan as playing fairly. Over time however, she had proven to be even more cunning and treacherous and he had come to loathe hearing her sharp voice in his throne room, challenging, cajoling, mocking... The trial over Ember had been a huge waste of resources and time; a village slaughtered and diplomatic ties shaken.

He was certain that the Knight Captain would have ordered her to be hanged or beheaded and in a strange way he would have been relieved. That unfortunate business would have been done and over with and she would have become an unfortunate footnote in the archives. But instead they had shown her mercy and took her into the Keep and he had to grudgingly admit she was useful.

Her and the wizard Sand... He would have never predicted it from the way they two had battled in court, the trial threatening with every argument to become an arena for their personalities and words and not a place to seek answers and justice. And now they were clutching each other like adolescent lovers, her eyes fierce and determined, his eyes sharp and protective... Nasher wanted to laugh at the idea of Sand sheltering anyone from harm and yet here he was. The elf who had begged for protection from Luskan was now practically begging him to protect a Luskan.

She was asking for pardon. Was this the elf's influence? Could she really be, deep down, a good person - but a person who had been twisted up frightened by Black Garius? The Knight Captains had seen fit to give her a second lease on life; her opposing counsel was, from what he knew, sleeping with her -

"Sand, in my capacity as your Lord, I will grant you those boons which I have sworn to do. Just remember, when abroad, I ask that you both protect your identities and relationship. Torio - such atonement can be given immediately if you so wish. We have many clerics, temples, churches - Lathander might be an ideal choice."

Torio's mind was racing. She wondered why she had voiced such a request, especially when Nasher seemed to be in the mood to reward her with most anything she might want, at the moment.

_But..._

Being back in the Castle, back where she had stood in front of hundreds and lied with self-righteous conviction, where she had been paraded, shackled, to meet her fate...it made the hidden thoughts and fears come writhing to the surface. She remembered the broken, sad and twisted bodies of the villagers that had been decimated by the attacks along the river on Amoria. It had been the work of devils. _It had been all too familiar. _ She remembered the whirling vortex beneath her feet as she was helplessly pulled down towards it, and even though she had been saved from it...she knew it was still waiting for her. Waiting for her to die, for her soul to take up the full weight of her sins and be pulled down, into infernal torment, waiting, patiently. _Her fate._

And she had earned it.

She nodded somewhat shakily towards Nasher. "I will...we will seek them out, then, my Lord. If it is unsafe for me to walk the streets, here, then there is a church at the Keep where I may seek guidance."

Vale spoke up. "We can protect you and escort you to which ever temple or church you choose, Torio. Depending on what is required of you, afterwards, I can also teleport you and Sand back to the Keep."

Lord Nasher made for the doorway. "Then let it be done as soon as possible..." ..._before you change your mind..._

Sand gave Lord Nasher a bow and watched the human leave the room. Vale moved to the candle, extinguishing it between his calloused fingers before turning to them, "Quite the stories, both of you. I suspect Lord Nasher and I will be discussing it for sometime. And for you, Ambassador, an _Invisibility_ spell should do nicely to get you to the temple. Wait here. There are few things I must take care of first." The Cloaktower mage picked up the stacks of dried parchments and left the room with an elegant, near silent swish of his robes.


	48. Chapter 48

**Volume 3, Chapter 48 - Contemplation**

Sand turned and crouched before Torio, still sitting in her chair. She looked pale but resolute, her eyes bright and clear; whatever changes she had undergone was more than just physical and mental... He kissed her bottom lip gently and then said jokingly, "Well, dear girl, I never quite expected to be visiting a church with you for..._this_...reason. But I can't say that I mind."

Torio snorted at him. "Yes, well, don't think that I'm going to start dancing through daisies like the druidess, or baking fudge and shortbread cookies with the warlock." She felt unimaginably uncomfortable with finding a temple in Neverwinter - or anywhere - and asking for atonement. Especially if they had heard of her before...

_But you want to do it, admit it._

She toyed with his fingers, fidgeting lightly with the long, dexterous digits as they waited for Vale, suddenly nervous. "I keep realizing how close to death we keep coming on a daily basis," she whispered to Sand quietly. "And there are...too many things that weigh on me, now, that didn't use to." She looked up into Sand's eyes wryly. "Ammon Jerro may be content to return to the hells, but I am not."

Sand pulled her close, resting her head on his shoulders. "Hmm... You going to the hells would make it significantly more difficult for me to follow you. I don't deal with extreme temperatures well." He gave her a reassuring, amused smile, trying to assuage her nervousness. "Besides, the hells would be an awful place. Both you _and_ Nivarra? The devils wouldn't get a moment of peace."

He kissed her hair and then said in a whisper, "Whatever those clerics and priests need you to do for atonement, I'll help you with. You know I'm here for you, dear girl."

Torio felt her throat constrict, and said in a rather choked whisper, "Well, I am rather fortunate, then, to have a powerful wizard at my disposal." Her fingers clutched tightly to his for a long moment...by, gods, but if Garius had been anything like Sand, instead of what he had been...

Well. She would more likely than not still be herself, minus the long leagues of corpses left in her wake. And she might have even learned a bit of magic, despite her ineptitude with spells; he had gotten her to use the wand...

_...and he listens to you, makes you laugh, challenges your mind..._

Not to mention he was incredible beneath the sheets. Or...above them, or around them, or sometimes in places where there were no sheets...

_You're distracting yourself, Torio. _

"I suppose I owe you a _dolle lle_ for your thoughtfulness," she murmured wryly. "But if any help you offer involves spelling me away to another plane, you can withhold at least that much, thank you."

Vale re-entered the room; for a moment he examined the two figures in the middle of the room, crouched and seated, their bodies leaning on one another as if they were lovers in a manicured park walk instead of agents for Neverwinter entrusted with dangerous missions. He cleared his throat loudly, and the two shadowed figures broke apart, standing up straight and materializing into the light as Sand and Torio.

"If you are prepared to leave, I will cast the spell. Please, hold still Ambassador."

The woman's hand was still held in Sand's, and he glanced at the other elf's face; Sand was younger than his half-millennium_...maybe I should speak to him..._

There was a shimmering in the air as Vale mumbled over the components in his hand, and a near silent _pop!_ as Torio's visage faded into invisibility. Sand now looked to be holding hands with absolutely nothing. "Follow me," he said quietly. "It is early evening, and Blacklake will not be extremely busy, but I will escort you, nonetheless."

Sand kept Torio between him and Vale as they followed the other Elven mage out of the castle. To the untrained eye, it merely looked like two mages out for an evening stroll past the Academy but keen eyes might have picked out how the dust that lay in places across the cobblestone were disturbed as if by a long dress as the two elves passed. Sand could feel her warm presence against his arm and he fought the urge to reach out and hold her hand or wrap his arm around her waist.

Young mages and acolytes who passed Vale all gave him half-bows and greeted him and Sand watched the interaction, wondering what it would be like to be so firmly entrenched in Neverwinter and so respected. He was beginning to realize that he would probably never have this; the cards the Fates had dealt him seemed to want him to be constantly on the road, travelling constantly moving. He had never been able to keep a position for long for one reason or another: his position at the Academy, his post with the Arcane Brotherhood, his shop in the merchant's district, and now he was at the Keep more than he was at his own shop in the Docks...

_But is that so bad, Sand? You've found a woman who feels the same..._

Vale was now pushing the door open to Lathander's temple and Sand recognized Dawnbringer Natrisse at the front. The temple was empty except for her and a few of the younger clerics. She approached the two of them. "Vale. And...Sand, is it? What brings you here? I did not think you followed the way of the Morninglord."

Vale shook his head politely. "We are here at the behest of one of our agents who wishes for atonement for crimes."

The priestess eyed Sand curiously but Vale shook his head again and dispelled the invisibility on Torio. The small human reappeared magically between the two elves. Natrisse gave a small gasp before recomposing herself. "Yes - of course but first I must speak to her and see her intent and there is a vigil of course..."

Natrisse beckoned to her, and Torio glanced briefly at Sand before following the woman up towards the front of the church, her skirts swishing almost noisily compared to the silent footsteps of the Dawnbringer. The woman bade her sit on one of the small pews at the front of the church, and she sat next to her once Torio was situated.

The woman's eyes were calm, steady as she looked at her. "Why are you here, child?"

Torio's fingers fidgeted in her lap; she found it hard to meet Natrisse's penetrating gaze, and focused on the woman's forehead instead. "I've…heard that you can expunge certain misdeeds." This was harder than she had thought it would be. Humility did not come naturally to her, and she was finding it difficult not to give in to pride, shuck up her skirts and her chin and march back out the door. How could this priestess sit there, and look at her with such condemnation, such judgement, such...

Something inside of her faltered, and she realized after a bitter moment that the woman was looking at her with nothing but cool politeness and a vague compassion. The judgement and condemnation that she felt pressing down on her was coming from no one other than herself.

"I wish to be rid of it," she whispered to the woman haltingly, almost fiercely. "It's...heavy. I've carried it all for so long...you can't even understand what it feels like..."

Natrisse suddenly smiled at her. "Maybe I can," she said quietly. "The gods are capable of great forgiveness - but you must want it in your heart. The path from wickedness is seldom an easy one to embark on. But..." The woman took her hand, her fingers soft and warm and only just beginning to wrinkle, like faded, well worn parchment, "If you are...committed to this, I can ask the gods for atonement of your many sins. However, you must truly be repentant."

Torio didn't hesitate; she merely looked back to where Sand and Vale were standing, her eyes thoughtful, before nodding firmly at the woman before her. "I'm ready."

* * *

Vale watched as the two women moved to the front of the temple for a brief moment, before turning and saying quietly to the other elf, "Might I speak with you for a moment, Sand?"

When he was sure he had the younger wizard's ear, he began whispering quietly, his tone serious. "May I ask if you've considered the wisdom of taking a human woman as your...companion? Considering who your companion _is_, I have no doubt that a serious consideration of your actions never really occurred on your part." The elf's voice was wry. "As it stands, the woman seems to have...changed, slightly, and Lord Nasher seems to think she's capable of trustworthiness. However...her deeds or misdeeds aside, you do realize she's human, Sand."

Sand waited until Torio was led away by Natrisse before answering. "Yes - it's...it's something we have discussed at length." His shoulders slumped slightly. He had been forewarned about his by his elders, by Elven poets, scholars, philosophers and now it seemed as though a fellow mage was doing the same.

"But...can we really help who we fall in love with?" He lifted his blue eyes to meet the other mage's astute gaze. "Do you think either of us had planned for this to happen? You _know_ I use to despise her." His glance travelled to the front of the church, were the effigy of Lathander stared sightlessly at them, and he said bitterly, "I think the gods are toying with me but I don't have much of a choice. The truth of the matter is I do love her, friend. I've been alone for three centuries already, I'll take thirty or forty years with her and then go back to being alone."

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated for a moment. "But that's cheerfully optimistic of me, isn't it? That's assuming I survive this upcoming war with the King of Shadows and pardon my enthusiasm, but... I don't think I will. We don't even know how to defeat the Shadow Reavers yet." The lines of his face seemed to have sharpened in the fading light. "So while I appreciate the concern, Master Vale, at this point I think perhaps you should be asking Torio how she feels about having a companion who is a 'hero of Neverwinter', doomed to die within the year. I'll be lucky if I can get a year with her, never mind half a century." Despite the cynical, harsh edge of his words, his voice was seeped with sadness. "I know she's human but she'll outlive me."

Vale sighed. "There is very little that you say that I can argue with, Sand," he said wearily. "You could bind yourself to an elf and die tomorrow, of course, and the situation wouldn't be any different. But mark this; Lord Nasher, and I, myself, faced innumerable foes in years past, more often than not together. You have companions that are steadfast, and you all might live through the upcoming darkness. We, of course, are counting on...and hoping for it." The elf placed his hand on Sand's shoulder lightly. "And then you will no longer have impending doom to protect you from making a difficult choice. Think on this, wizard. It is impossible for you to fathom leaving her now, yes?" The elf's eyes were sad, and for a moment his voice was too bitter for an elf simply giving what he considered was good advice. "Imagine how impossible it will be to say goodbye to her after half a century has passed. A part of you will not survive the process, and you will never get that piece of yourself back."

He removed his hand. "Please think on what I've said." He glanced back towards the room into where Torio and Natrisse disappeared; the latter was exiting the room, giving them both a polite nod before leaving through a side door, towards her own chambers. Vale nodded at Sand. "Torio Claven will be here for the rest of the night, I presume. Until Lord Nasher is able to speak with Sydney Natale about the charges being called against you and Torio, I would suggest moving about the city discreetly. I have faith that you'll be safe." He smiled wryly, "You were able to so effectively block our scrying magics while you were literally right under our noses. You both must return to the Keep soon, and if you need assistance in teleporting back or anything else, please seek me out. I am usually found in the Cloaktower." He nodded. "Good evening."

Vale turned, and with a slightly heavier step, left the church.

* * *

Natrisse stood and gestured for Torio to follow. They walked to a small antechamber with a window facing the east, a few candles and a low mat on the stone floor. A low table held some dry bread and water. A stone statue of Lathander stood, silent and imposing yet not unkind. "The Morninglord's power is greatest, obviously, with the dawn. And it is fitting you have come to our temple for your rebirth, for he also the god of a new life. Here you will spend the night in contemplation of your sins and pray that you are worthy in the eyes of Lathander for forgiveness. You are permitted visitors only until sundown; the darkness of night must be suffered alone."

Natrisse took Torio's hands again. "I will spent the night myself in prayer. I will pray for you, and for strength and compassion. When the dawn breaks tomorrow morning, you will know if Lathander will answer your pleas." She moved to the door, opening the creaking wood slowly. "If he has, then we will perform the ritual. If he has not..." The priestess shrugged quietly. "Then I am sorry."

Torio settled herself on the mat, feeling suddenly and unmistakably alone as soon as the door shut quietly behind her. She let her head fall forward, shutting her eyes; she wasn't quite capable of staring at the statue of a god for an entire night, but even so, she could feel a weight on her, contemplative, as if the deadened, flat eyes of the icon could really see her and were considering her thoughtfully.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Sand watched as the elder elf left the church and then turned his attention in the direction that Torio had disappeared. He remembered the Rites of Tyr, how Meaghan had been allowed visitors. Could he visit Torio now?

Natrisse had said nothing to him forbidding it. Perhaps he could see her briefly before he made his way back to his shop for some sleep. He tiptoed across the flat flagstone floor, reticent to make even the slightest noise in the peace of the church.

With a pang he realized that Vale was right. Sand was even hesitant to be separated from her for the night; what would happen if he survived? What would happen decades down the road? The grief would probably come very close to killing him. He gritted his teeth and refused to think about it further. He would deal with that issue when it became pressing; as he had promised himself and her a few nights ago, he would track down every necromancer he could until he found a way to save her from her fallible, human body. And if he couldn't? He'd find a way to bind his soul to hers so no matter where she went, he could follow. Magic had saved them once; it would save them again.

He knocked softly on the door. "_Helkaer_. Am I allowed to see you? It would not bode well for your repentance if you sinned during your confessionals..."

Torio lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. Her mouth twitched in a slight smile. "Until sundown, _bodaes_." Her voice was somewhat subdued, but she shifted, patting the mat next to her wryly. "Have a seat. If you don't mind the Morninglord staring at you, that is."

Sand rested his head on her shoulder and stared at Lathander. "I hope _you_ don't mind if I come in here and start just speaking, dear girl - otherwise, this place would seem awfully dull." He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her mouth quickly. "Mmm I don't know if I feel comfortable kissing you with the Morninglord looking at us. I wonder if the gods are voyeurs... we certainly invoke their names often enough at night." His voice was laughing.

She felt strangely hushed, reverent; her voice came out barely louder than a whisper. "I can see why I never chose to follow a priestess' path; it's too quiet in here. My thoughts are too loud." She glanced at the statue sardonically. "Although I suppose that's what I'm supposed to be doing." Her fingers reached out, tracing the slim edge of his uplifted cheekbone, tucking a long strand of his hair behind his ear. "I didn't mean to pull this on you, you know; spending the night at the church wasn't what I had in mind for our last night in relative peace and freedom." Her voice was rueful.

He stared out the window with her, watching the orange and pink hues of the sky slow become black and dotted with stars. "I don't mind, Torio. This is important to you and if it's important to you, then it is important to me. How did the oath go again? 'Love what you love'? We'll have plenty of other days of peace. And now you have your freedom as well and I have permission to travel with you. Though - " he added cheekily, "I do believe there is a throne that requires breaking in. That should be the first order of business."

Torio flushed insensibly at the mention of the throne. _ I'm not sure what seems to arouse you more, bodaes, the idea of the actual throne, or what we'd be doing on it._ She glanced at him slyly, and then chuckled, shaking her head. "Permission to travel," she said dryly. "One would think that you'd had enough of the countryside for a while. I'm glad he's given us leave; one less thing to look over our shoulders for, I suppose." She was turned slightly to face him; there was something deeply intimate about being able to look him squarely in the eyes, no matter how they were usually situated. She didn't have to crane her neck upwards, nor tilt it downwards, to see straight into the slanted blue orbs that always gleamed back at her. He neither overwhelmed her small frame, nor was dwarfed by it; but he met her equally, his eyes directly across from hers, without her having to stretch, reach, or tilt to meet his gaze.

She was suddenly desperately glad he was here, and found herself loathing the onward tick of time; he would have to leave soon, and then it would be nothing but Lathander's contemplative gaze for which, she had to tilt her head to meet.

She realized she had been staring at him for a rather long, stretched out moment; her eyes flicked to the window to keep an eye on the sunset, and she said lowly, "Well, it's perfectly understandable that you'd wish to invoke Mystra's name in my presence..." Her mouth curled, one eyebrow lifting coyly. "...although it never saves you from what I do to you in the end, does it?"

Sand laughed quietly, his voice too loud even in his own pointed ears. "Maybe I don't want to be saved from what you do, dear girl. Maybe I rather enjoy it." He found the darkening skies, her steady breathing, the quiet of the church - it was all making him very sleepy. It had been a long, tumultuous day; he hated having his life hang in the balance, to be determined by others. He hated that even his relationship with Torio was subject to royal decree. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, to fall in love with a smart, beautiful woman and yet for him, it had gotten horribly complicated along the way. The fact that she was a human was just the beginning.

Instead, he asked, "So did the Dawnbringer tell you what's involved with your atonement? Adopting street urchins? Preaching on the corners? Saving the warlock's from his unforgiveable love of cookies?"

Torio snorted laughingly, and then glanced at the statue sheepishly, her laughter trailing into quiet coughing. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she looked at him. "I was told that I was to spend the night in contemplation and prayer." She blinked her eyes wearily. "As it stands, I hope I can stay awake. But, I suppose I'll do my best. The Dawnbringer mentioned that if Lathander hears my pleas, we will...know, by dawn, if he's accepted my repentance, or...rejected it." For the first time those words sank into her completely, and she felt a little of the blood drain from her face. Being rejected by the gods had never crossed her minds.

_The gods are capable of great forgiveness._

She rubbed her eyes, and sighed. "The sun is almost down, _Bodaes_. You should go try to sleep; tomorrow we'll find out if this was all worth it or no." _ And then we'll go home_. It felt strange to think of Crossroad Keep as home...Sand's house, while thoroughly welcoming, was still too much his house for her to think of it as being home. And its proximity to Castle Never was a factor. But the Keep...

_The nights of sneaking through halls, laughing beneath bedcovers, muffling their cries..._The Library was there, after all.

She bent forward and kissed him lightly. "Go on; I have past transgressions to contemplate." Her voice was lighthearted, but she could feel her stomach sinking even as she spoke.

Sand pulled her bodily to him, starving for her mouth, her skin, her scent. Even here, despite the sterile mustiness of the church, he could still smell her. He ran his hands through her hair, holding the back of her head as his tongue slipped into her mouth. He replied fervently, "No matter what the gods decide tomorrow, dear girl, remember that I have already forgiven you and... and... I'll love you no matter what." He relaxed his hold on her and stood, smoothing down his robes and leaving behind the sack holding the dresses. "You can at least go to your atonement in high fashion, Torio... I suppose I should go." His eyes took a wicked gleam. "I want you to begin your night of boredom without delay. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Good night."

He left the small antechamber and quietly made his way back to his shop. His bed suddenly seemed too big without her, too cold, too indifferent - but he curled up anyway, watching the stars appear one by one outside his window until his eyelids grew heavier and he slipped into a deep slumber.

* * *

She sat for a long time, her eyes growing heavier as the night wore on. She chewed on a few mouthfuls of bread and drank the water down, hoping it would keep her awake, but even as she sat, the statue wavered in front of her as her eyes began to close.

_You're supposed to be praying._

_Can I help it, I'm exhausted?_ It had been a long few weeks. Plus her sins were laid bare rather effectively; she had owned them rather completely when Neverwinter had taken her into its dubious graces.

She found her thoughts wandering, remembering the charred, blackened faces of the dead petitioners on the banks of the river. _A man that lay half-severed through the middle, his eyes wide in almost surprise; an older woman who had died on her front, as if she had been running when struck down. A girl standing on the riverbank, watching their boats float past the numerous, hard-hit towns along the river..._

_And then suddenly the girl was her...prodding the slaughtered body of her mother...was it her mother? A woman that had fed her, at least, a two-copper whore that had been murdered by one of her customers...And then she was singing, dancing in alehouses, lifting her skirts in alleyways, taking the coins offered and turning them right around into bread, cheese, anything edible, sometimes a roof over her head at nights; Nephila taking her in, her life becoming the empty, monotonous stream of one man's face after another, and then Garius, taking hold of her arm as she was spitting insults at the cowering justicar in the street, his raining blows on her face and shoulders sparking a fire in her that she had thought dead and gone...and Garius had known not to strike her from that, that it would enflame her instead of cow her...so he entered her mind; so much confusion, pain, fear, excitement, a small glimmer of hope...oh how Garius used that hope, stretched it and twisted it until he had her thoroughly ensnared, dangling it so that she did whatever she could, whatever he wanted, in the scattered hope that it would make things better for her, until she believed that it was the only way to live life and survive, and she had watched coldly as a village was slaughtered so that her master could eliminate a new threat to his power..._

Her eyes opened with a snap.

She must have dozed off; she had been dreaming, her past flashing and dancing around her as she slept, her head rolled forward against her chest. She had never fallen asleep sitting straight up before, and as she lifted her head, she nearly cried out at the spasming, protesting muscles down the back of her neck. Lathander was still watching her; as she reached up to rub her eyes and glance at the faint glow in the sky announcing dawn's approach, she felt wetness on her cheeks.

Lathander's statue smiled benignly and inanimately down at her as the sun began to rise.


End file.
